unties 

LIBRARY. 

iHMin 

NOT  TO  BE  TAKEN  FEOM  THIS  BOOM. 

Presented  by _ 

JSTO.M& F4 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/fromlakesofkillaOOfielrich 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


FROM   EGYPT   TO  JAPAN. 

THE   SECOND   VOLUME   OF 

Dr.  Field's  Travels  Around  the  World. 

i  vol.  i2mo,  cloth,  uniform  with  this  volume,  $2.00. 
%*  Sent  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  j>rice,  by  the  Publishers, 

SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG  &  CO., 

743  and  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


FBOM  THE  LAKES  OE  EJLLAMEY 


TO 


THE  GOLDEN  HORN. 


By  HENRY  M.  FIELD,  D.D. 


FOURTH  EDITION. 


NEW  YORK: 
SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG  AND  COMPANY. 

1877. 


COPYBIGHT,   1876,   BT 

8CRIBNER,   ARMSTRONG  &  CO. 


Johw  F.  Teow  &  Sow,  Pbintem, 
New  York. 


G-H5 


When  a  man's  house  is  u  left  unto  him  desolate  "  by  the 
loss  of  one  who  filled  it  with  sunshine — when  there  is  no 
light  in  the  window  and  no  fire  on  the  hearth — it  is  a  natural 
impulse  to  leave  his  darkened  home,  and  become  a  wanderer 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Such  was  the  beginning  of  the 
journey  recorded  here.  Thus  driven  from  his  home,  the 
writer  crossed  the  seas,  and  passed  from  land  to  land,  going 
on  and  on,  till  he  had  compassed  the  round  globe.  The 
story  of  all  this  is  much  too  long  to  be  comprised  in  one 
volume.  The  present,  therefore,  does  not  pass  beyond 
Europe,  but  stops  on  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus,  in  sight 
of  Asia.  Another  will  take  us  to  the  Nile  and  the  Ganges, 
to  Egypt  and  India,  to  Burmah  and  Java,  to  China  and 
Japan. 

It  should  be  added,  to  explain  an  occasional  personal 
allusion,  that  the  writer  was  accompanied  by  his  niece  (who 
had  lived  so  long  in  his  family  as  to  be  like  his  own  child), 
whose  gentle  presence  cheered  his  lonely  hours,  and  cast  a 
soft  and  quiet  light  amid  the  shadows. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  paok 

The  Melancholy  Sea 7 

CHAPTER  II. 
Ireland— its  Beauty  and  its  Sadness 17 

CHAPTER  III. 
Scotland  and  the  Scotch 24 

CHAPTER  TV. 
Moody  and  Sankey  in  London 32 

CHAPTER   V. 
Two  Sides  of  London. — Is  Modern  Civilization  a  Failure  ?. . . .        42 

CHAPTER   VI. 
The  Resurrection  of  France 60 

CHAPTER  VII. 
The  French  National  Assembly 66 

CHAPTER  VILT. 
The  Lights  and  Shadows  of  Paris 77 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Going  on  a  Pilgrimage 86 

CHAPTER  X. 
Under  the  Shadow  of  Mont  Blanc 96 

CHAPTER  XL 
Switzerland 108 

CHAPTER  XII. 
On  the  Rhine 119 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Belgium  and  Holland 130 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  New  Germany  and  its  Capital 140 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Austria— Old  and  New 150 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XVI.  paqb 

A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. — Outdoor  Life  of  the  German 

People 164 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
The  Passion  Play  and  the  School  of  the  Cross 179 

CHAPTER  XVIIL 
The  Tyrol  and  Lake  Como 194 

CHAPTER  XIX 
The  City  in  the  Sea 207 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Milan  and  Genoa.— A  Ride  over  the  Corniche  Road 222 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
In  the  Vale  of  the  Arno ' 234 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Old  Rome  and  New  Rome. — Ruins  and  Resurrection 243 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
The  Prisoner  of  the  Vatican 253 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Pictures  and  Palaces 261 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Naples— Pompeii  and  Psestum 272 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
The  Ascent  of  Vesuvius 282 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
Greece  and  its  Young  King 291 

CHAPTER  XXVIH. 
Constantinople 305 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
The  Sultan  Abdul  Aziz 321 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
The  Eastern  Question.— The  Exodus  of  the  Turks 330 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
The  Sultan  is  Deposed,  and  Commits  Suicide.  — The  War  in 

Servia.— Massacres  in  Bulgaria. — How  will  it  all  End  ?. . . .       343 


FEOM  THE  LAKES   OF  KILLARNEY 
TO  THE   GOLDEN  HOliN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    MELANCHOLY    SEA. 


Queenstown,  Irbland,  Monday,  May  24,  1875. 

We  landed  this  morning  at  two  o'clock,  by  the  light  of  the 
moon,  which  was  just  past  the  full,  and  which  showed  dis- 
tinctly the  beautiful  harbor,  surrounded  by  hills  and  forts, 
and  filled  with  ships  at  anchor,  through  which  the  tender 
that  brought  us  off  from  the  steamer  glided  silently  to  the 
town,  which  lay  in  death-like  stillness  before  us.  Eight 
days  and  six  hours  took  us  from  shore  to  shore  !  Eight 
days  we  were  out  of  sight  of  land.  Water,  water  every- 
where !  Ocean  to  the  right  of  us,  ocean  to  the  left  of  us, 
ocean  in  front  of  us,  and  ocean  behind  us,  with  two  or  three 
miles  of  ocean  under  us.  But  our  good  ship,  the  City  of 
Berlin  (which  seemed  proud  of  bearing  the  name  of  the  capi- 
tal of  the  new  German  Empire),  bore  us  over  the  sea  like  a 
conqueror.  She  is  said  to  be  the  largest  ship  in  the  world, 
next  to  the  Great  Eastern,  being  520  feet  long,  and  carrying 
5,500  tons.  This  was  her  first  voyage,  and  much  interest 
was  felt  as  to  how  she  "  behaved."  She  carried  herself 
proudly  from  the  start.  On  Saturday,  the  15th,  seven  steam- 
ships, bound  for  Europe,  left  New  York  at  about  the  same 
time.  Those  of  the  National  and  the  Anchor  lines  moved 
off  quietly ;  then  the  Celtic,  of  the  White  Star  line, 
so  famous  for  its  speed,  shot  down  the  Bay ;  and  the  French 


8  THE    MELANCHOLY    SEA. 

steamer,  the  Amerique,  swept  by,  firing  her  guns,  as  if  boast- 
ing of  what  she  would  do.  But  the  Berlin  answered  not  a 
word.  Since  a  fatal  accident,  by  which  a  poor  fellow  was 
blown  to  pieces  by  a  premature  explosion,  the  Inman  line 
has  dropped  the  foolish  custom  of  firing  a  salute  every  time 
a  ship  leaves  or  touches  the  dock.  So  her  guns  were  silent ; 
she  made  no  reply  to  her  noisy  French  neighbor.  But  at 
length  her  huge  bulk  swung  slowly  into  the  stream,  and  her 
engines  began  to  move.  She  had  not  gone  half-way  down 
the  bay  before  she  left  all  her  rivals  behind,  the  Frenchman 
still  firing  his  guns;  even  the  Celtic,  though  pressing 
steam,  was  soon  "  nowhere."  We  did  not  see  the  German 
ship,  which  sailed  at  a  different  hour ;  nor  the  Cunarder,  the 
Algeria  (in  which  were  our  friends,  Prof.  R.  D.  Hitchcock 
and  his  family),  as  she  left  an  hour  before  us ;  but  as  she  has 
not  yet  been  signalled  at  Queenstown,  she  must  be  some  dis- 
tance behind  ;*  so  that  the  Berlin  may  fairly  claim  the  honors 
of  this  ocean  race. 

But  in  crossing  the  sea  speed  is  secondary  to  safety  and  to 
comfort ;  and  in  these  things  I  can  say  truly  that  I  never 
was  on  board  a  more  magnificent  ship  (excepting  always  the 
Great  Eastern,  in  which  I  crossed  in  1867).  She  was  never 
going  at  full  speed,  but  took  it  easily,  as  it  was  her  first  voy- 
age, and  the  Captain  was  anxious  to  get  his  new  machinery 
into  smooth  working  order.  The  great  size  of  the  ship  con- 
duces much  to  comfort.  She  is  more  steady,  she  does  not  pitch 
and  roll,  like  the  lighter  boats  that  we  saw  tossing  around 
us,  while  she  was  moving  majestically  through  the  waves. 
The  saloon,  instead  of  being  at  the  stern,  according  to  the  old 
method  of  construction,  is  placed  more  amidships  (after  the 
excellent  model  first  introduced  by  the  White  Star  line), 
and  covers  the  whole  width  of  the  steamer,  which  gives  light 

*  She  came  in  fifteen  hours  after  us,  and  the  Celtic  twenty.  The 
German  ship  reached  Southampton  two  days  later. 


THE   MELANCHOLY    SEA.  9 

on  both  sides.  There  are  four  bath-rooms,  with  marble 
baths,  supplied  with  salt  water,  so  that  one  may  have  the 
luxury  of  sea-bathing  without  going  to  Rockaway  or  Coney 
Island.  In  crossing  the  Gulf  Stream  the  water  is  warm 
enough ;  but  if  elsewhere  it  is  too  chill,  the  turn  of  a  cock 
lets  the  steam  into  the  bath,  which  quickly  raises  it  to  any 
degree  of  temperature.  The  ventilation  is  excellent,  so  that 
even  when  the  port-holes  are  shut  on  account  of  the  high  sea, 
the  air  never  becomes  impure.  The  state-rooms  are  furnished 
with  electric  bells,  one  touch  on  which  brings  a  steward  in 
an  instant.  Thus  provided  for,  one  may  escape,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  discomforts  of  the  sea,  and  enjoy  in  some  degree 
the  comforts  and  even  the  luxuries  of  civilization. 

Captain  Kennedy,  who  is  the  Commodore  of  the  fleet,  and 
so  always  commands  the  newest  and  best  ship  of  the  line, 
is  an  admirable  seaman,  with  a  quick  eye  for  everything, 
always  on  deck  at  critical  moments,  watching  with  unsleep- 
ing vigilance  over  the  safety  of  all  on  board.  The  order  and 
discipline  of  the  ship  is  perfect.  There  is  no  noise  or  confu- 
sion. All  moves  on  quietly.  Not  a  sound  is  heard,  save 
the  occasional  cry  of  the  men  stretching  the  sails,  and  the 
steady  throb,  day  and  night,  of  the  engine,  which  keeps  this 
huge  mass  moving  on  her  ocean  track. 

But  what  a  vast  machine  is  such  a  ship,  and  how  compli- 
cated the  construction  which  makes  possible  such  a  triumph 
over  the  sea.  Come  up  on  the  upper  deck,  and  look  down 
through  this  iron  grating.  You  can  see  to  a  depth  of  fifty  or 
sixty  feet.  It  is  like  looking  down  into  a  miner's  shaft.  And 
what  makes  it  the  more  fearful,  is  that  the  bottom  of  the  ship 
is  a  mass  of  fire.  Thirty-six  furnaces  are  in  full  blast  to  heat 
the  steam,  and  at  night,  as  the  red-hot  coals  tlrat  are  raked 
out  of  the  furnaces  like  melted  lava,  flash  in  the  faces  of  the 
brawny  and  sweltering  men,  one  might  fancy  himself  looking 
into  some  Vulcan's  cave,  or  subterranean  region,  glowing  with 
an  infernal  heat.  Thus  one  of  thete  great  ocean  steamships 
1* 


10  THE    MELANCHOLY    SEA. 

is  literally  a  sea  monster,  that  feeds  on  fire ;  and  descending 
into  its  bowels  is  (to  use  the  energetic  language  of  Scripture 
in  speaking  of  Jonah  in  the  whale)  like  going  down  into 
the  «  belly  of  hell." 

All  this  suggests  clanger  from  fire  as  well  as  from  the  sea, 
and  yet,  so  perfect  are  the  precautions  taken,  that  these  glow- 
ing furnaces  really  guard  against  danger,  as  they  shorten  the 
time  of  exposure  by  insuring  quadruple  speed  in  crossing 
the  deep. 

And  yet  I  can  never  banish  the  sense  of  a  danger  that  is 
always  near  from  the  two  destroying  elements  of  fire  and  water, 
flood  and  flame.  The  very  precautions  against  danger  show 
that  it  is  ever  present  to  the  mind  of  the  prudent  navigator. 
Those  ten  life-boats  hung  above  the  deck,  with  pulleys  ready 
to  swing  them  over  the  ship's  side  at  a  moment's  notice, 
and  the  axe  ready  to  cut  away  the  ropes,  and  even  casks  of 
water  filled  to  quench  the  burning  thirst  of  a  shipwrecked 
crew  that  may  be  cast  helpless  on  the  waves,  suggest  unpleas- 
ant possibilities,  in  view  of  recent  disasters  ;  and  one  night  I 
went  to  my  berth  feeling  not  quite  so  easy  as  in  my  bed  at 
home,  as  we  were  near  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  and  a 
dense  fog  hung  over  the  sea,  through  which  the  ship  went, 
making  fourteen  miles  an  hour,  its  fog-whistles  scream- 
ing all  night  long.  This  was  very  well  as  a  warning 
to  other  ships  to  keep  out  of  the  way,  but  would  not  receive 
much  attention  from  the  icebergs  that  were  floating  about, 
which  are  very  abundant  in  the  Atlantic  this  summer.  We 
saw  one  the  next  day,  a  huge  fellow  that  might  have  proved 
an  ugly  acquaintance,  as  one  crash  on  his  frozen  head  would 
have  sent  us  all  to  the  bottom. 

But  at  such  times  unusual  precautions  are  taken.  There 
are  signs  in  the  sudden  chilliness  of  the  air  of  the  near  ap- 
proach of  an  iceberg,  which  would  lead  the  ship  to  back  out 
at  once  from  the  hug  of  such  a  polar  bear. 

In  a  few  hours  the  fog  was  all  gone  ;  and  the  next  night, 


THE    MELANCHOLY    SEA.  11 

as  we  sat  on  deck,  the  full  moon  rose  out  of  the  waves.  In- 
stantly the  hum  of  voices  ceased  ;  conversation  was  hushed  ; 
and  all  grew  silent  before  the  awful  beauty  of  the  scene. 
Such  an  hour  suggests  not  merely  poetical  but  spiritual 
thoughts — thoughts  of  the  dead  as  well  as  thoughts  of  God. 
It  recalled  a  passage  in  David  Copperfield,  where  little  David, 
after  the  death  of  his  mother,  sits  at  a  window  and  looks  out 
upon  the  sea,  and  sees  a  shining  path  over  the  waters,  and 
thinks  he  sees  his  mother  coming  to  him  upon  it  from  heaven. 
May  it  not  be  that  on  such  a  radiant  pathway  from  the  skies 
we  sometimes  see  the  angels  of  God  ascending  and  descend- 
ing? 

But  with  all  these  moonlight  nights,  and  sun-risings  and 
sun-settings,  the  sea  had  little  attraction  for  me,  and  its  gen- 
eral impression  was  one  of  profound  melancholy.  Perhaps 
my  own  mood  of  mind  had  something  to  do  with  it ;  but  as 
1  sat  upon  deck  and  looked  out  upon  the  "  gray  and  melan- 
choly waste,"  or  lay  in  my  berth  and  heard  the  waves  rush- 
ing past,  I  had  a  feeling  more  dreary  than  in  the  most  deso- 
late wilderness.  That  sound  haunted  me ;  it  was  the  last  I 
hoard  at  night,  and  the  first  in  the  morning ;  it  mingled  with 
my  dreams.  1  tried  to  analyze  the  feeling.  "Was  it  my  own 
mental  depression  that  hung  like  a  cloud  over  the  waters ; 
or  was  it  something  in  the  aspect  of  nature  itself  ?  Perhaps 
both.  I  was  indeed  floating  amid  shadows.  But  I  found 
no  sympathy  in  the  sea.  On  the  land  Nature  soothed  and 
comforted  me;  she  spoke  in  gentle  tones,  as  if  she  had  a 
heart  of  tenderness,  a  motherly  sympathy  with  the  sorrow 
of  her  children.  There  was  something  in  the  deep  silence  of 
the  woods  that  seemed  to  say,  Peace,  be  still !  The  brooks 
murmured  softly  as  they  flowed  between  their  mossy  banks, 
as  if  they  would  not  disturb  our  musings,  but  "  glide  into 
them,  and  steal  away  their  sharpness  ere  we  were  aware." 
The  robins  sang  in  notes  not  too  gay,  but  that  spoke  of  re- 
turning spring  after  a  long  dark  winter  j  and  the  soft  airs  that 


12  THE    MELANCHOLY    SEA. 

touched  the  feverish  brow  seemed  to  lift  gently  the  grief 
that  rested  there,  and  carry  it  away  on  the  evening  wind. 
But  in  the  ocean,  there  was  no  touch  of  human  feeling,  n^ 
sympathy  with  human  woe.  All  was  cold  and  pitiless 
Even  on  the  sea  beach  u  the  cruel,  crawling  foam"  comes 
creeping  up  to  the  feet  of  the  child  skipping  along  the  sands, 
as  if  to  snatch  him  away,  while  out  on  the  deep  the  rolling 
waves 

"  Mock  the  cry 
Of  some  strong  swimmer  in  his  agony." 

Bishop  Butler  finds  in  many  of  the  forces  of  Nature  proofs 
of  God's  moral  government  over  the  world,  and  even  sugges- 
tions of  mercy.  But  none  of  these  does  he  find  in  the  sea. 
That  speaks  only  of  wrath  and  terror.  Its  power  is  to  de- 
stroy. It  is  a  treacherous  element.  Smooth  and  smiling  it 
may  be,  even  when  it  lures  us  to  destruction.  We  are  sail- 
ing over  it  in  perfect  security,  but  let  there  be  a  fire  or  a  col- 
lision, and  it  would  swallow  us  up  in  an  instant,  as  it  has 
swallowed  a  thousand  wrecks  before.  Knowing  no  mercy, 
cruel  as  the  grave,  it  sacrifices  without  pity  youth  and  age, 
gray  hairs  and  childish  innocence  and  tender  womanhood — 
all  alike  are  engulfed  in  the  devouring  sea.  There  is  not  a 
single  tear  in  the  thousand  leagues  of  ocean,  nor  a  sigh  in  the 
winds  that  sweep  over  it,  for  all  the  hearts  it  breaks  or  the 
lives  it  destroys.  The  sea,  therefore,  is  not  a  symbol  of  di- 
vine mercy.  It  is  the  very  emblem  of  tremendous  and  re- 
morseless power.  Indeed,  if  Nature  had  no  other  face  but 
this,  we  could  hardly  believe  in  God,  or  at  least,  with  gentle 
attributes;  we  could  only  stand  on  the  shore  of  existence, 
and  shake  with  terror  at  the  presence  of  a  being  of  infinite 
power,  but  cold  and  pitiless  as  the  waves  that  roll  from  the 
Arctic  pole.  Our  Saviour  walked  on  the  waves,  but  left 
thereon  no  impress  of  his  blessed  feet ;  nor  can  we  find  there 
a  trace  of  the  love  of  God  as  it  shines  in  the  face  of  Jesus 
Christ. 


THE    MELANCHOLY    SEA.  13 

But  we  must  not  yield  to  musings  that  grow  darker  with 
the  gathering  night.  Let  us  go  down  into  the  ship,  where 
the  lamps  are  lighted,  and  there  is  a  sound  of  voices,  to  make 
us  forget  our  loneliness  in  the  midst  of  the  sea. 

The  cabin  always  presented  an  animated  scene.  We  had 
nearly  two  hundred  passengers,  who  were  seated  about  on  the 
sofas,  reading,  or  playing  games,  or  engaged  in  conversation. 
The  company  was  a  very  pleasant  one.  At  the  Captain's 
table,  where  we  sat,  was  Mr.  Mathew,  the  late  English  Minis- 
ter to  Brazil,  a  very  intelligent  and  agreeable  gentleman,  who 
had  been  for  seven  years  at  the  Court  of  Dom  Pedro,  whom 
he  described  as  one  of  the  most  enlightened  monarchs  of  his 
time,  "  half  a  century  in  advance  of  his  people,"  doing  every- 
thing that  was  possible  to  introduce  a  better  industry  and 
all  improvements  in  the  arts  from  Europe  and  America. 
The  great  matter  of  political  interest  now  in  Brazil  is  the 
controversy  with  the  Bishops,  where,  as  in  Germany,  it  is  a 
stubborn  fight  between  the  State  and  the  ecclesiastical  power. 
Two  of  the  Bishops  are  now  in  prison  for  having  excommuni- 
cated by  wholesale  all  the  Freemasons  of  the  country,  with- 
out asking  the  consent  of  the  government  to  the  issue  of  such 
a  sweeping  decree.  They  are  confined  in  two  fortresses  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  harbor  of  Bio  Janeiro,  where  they 
take  their  martyrdom  very  comfortably,  their  sentence  to 
"  hard  labor  "  amounting  to  having  a  French  cook,  and  all 
the  luxuries  of  life,  so  that  they  can  have  a  good  time,  while 
they  fulminate  their  censures,  "nursing  their  wrath  to  keep 
it  warm." 

At  the  same  table  were  several  young  Englishmen,  who 
were  not  at  all  like  the  imaginary  Briton  abroad,  cold 
and  distant  and  reserved,  but  very  agreeable,  and  doing 
everything  to  make  our  voyage  pleasant.  We  remember 
them  with  a  feeling  of  real  friendship.  Near  us  also  sat 
a  young  New  York  publisher,  Mr.  Mead,  with  his  wife, 
to  whom  we  were  drawn  by  a  sort  of  elective  affinity,  and 


14  THE    MELANCHOLY    SEA. 

shall  be  glad  to  meet  them  again  on  the  other  side  of  the 
ocean. 

Among  our  passengers  was  Grace  Greenwood,  who  added 
much  to  the  general  enjoyment  by  entertaining  us  in  tie 
evening  with  her  dramatic  recitations  from  Bret  Harte's 
California  Sketches,  while  her  young  daughter,  who  has  a 
very  sweet  voice,  sang  charmingly. 

Like  all  ships'  companies,  ours  were  bent  on  amusing 
themselves,  although  it  was  sometimes  a  pursuit  of  pleasure 
under  difficulties ;  as  one  evening,  when  a  young  gentleman 
and  lady  sang  "  What  are  the  wild  waves  saying  ?  "  each 
clinging  to  a  post  for  support,  while  the  performer  at  the 
piano  had  to  fall  on  his  knees  to  keep  from  being  drifted  away 
from  his  instrument ! 

But  Grace  Greenwood  is  not  a  mere  entertainer  of  audi- 
ences with  her  voice,  or  of  the  public  with  her  pen.  She  is 
not  only  a  very  clever  writer,  but  has  as  much  wisdom  as  wit 
in  her  woman's  brain.  In  our  conversations  she  did  not  dis- 
cover any  extreme  opinions,  such  as  are  held  by  some  bril- 
liant female  writers,  but  seemed  to  have  a  mind  well  balanced, 
with  a  great  deal  of  good  common  sense  as  well  as  womanly 
feeling,  and  a  brave  heart  to  help  her  struggling  sisters  in 
America,  and  all  over  the  world. 

One  meets  some  familiar  faces  on  these  steamer  decks,  and 
here  almost  the  first  man  that  I  ran  against  was  a  clergyman 
whom  I  knew  twenty-five  years  ago  in  Connecticut,  Rev. 
James  T.  Hyde.  He  is  now  a  Professor  in  the  Congrega- 
tional Theological  Seminary  at  Chicago,  and  is  going  abroad 
for  the  first  time.  What  a  world  of  good  it  does  these  stu- 
dious men,  these  preachers  and  scholars,  to  be  thus  "  trans- 
ported I  " 

But  here  is  a  scholar  and  a  professor  who  is  not  a  stranger 
in  Europe,  but  to  the  manner  born,  our  own  beloved  Dr. 
Schaff,  whose  passage  I  had  taken  with  mine  (knowing  that 
he  had   to  go  abroad  this  summer),  and  thus  beguiled  him 


THE    MELANCHOLY    SEA.  15 

into  our  company.  We  shared  the  same  state-room,  and 
never  do  I  desire  a  more  delightful  travelling  companion  on 
land  or  sea.  Those  who  know  him  do  not  need  to  be  told 
that  he  is  not  only  one  of  our  first  scholars,  but  one  of  the 
most  genial  of  men.  While  full  of  learning,  he  never 
oppresses  you  with  oracular  wisdom;  but  is  just  as  ready 
for  a  pleasant  story  as  for  a  grave  literary  or  theological  dis- 
cussion. I  think  we  hardly  realize  yet  what  a  service  he  has 
rendered  to  our  country  in  establishing  a  sort  of  literary  and 
intellectual  free  trade  between  the  educated  and  religious 
mind  of  America  and  of  Great  Britain  and  Germany.  To 
him  more  than  to  any  other  man  is  due  the  great  success 
of  the  Evangelical  Alliance.  He  is  now  going  abroad  on  a 
mission  of  not  less  importance — the  revision  of  our  present 
version  of  the  English  Bible  :  a  work  which  has  eulisted  for 
some  years  the  combined  labors  of  a  great  number  of  the 
most  eminent  scholars  in  England  and  America. 

Finally,  as  a  practical  homily  and  piece  of  advice  to  all 
who  are  going  abroad,  let  me  say,  if  you  would  have  the 
fullest  enjoyment,  take  a  young  person  with  you — if  possi- 
ble, one  who  is  untravelled,  so  that  you  can  see  the  world 
again  with  fresh  eyes.  I  came  away  in  the  deepest  depres- 
sion. Nothing  has  comforted  me  so  much  as  a  light  figure 
always  at  my  side.  Poor  child  !  The  watching,  and  care,  and 
sorrow  that  she  has  had  for  these  many  months,  had  driven  the 
roses  from  her  cheeks ;  but  now  they  are  coming  back  again. 
She  has  never  been  abroad  before.  To  her  literally  u  all 
things  are  new."  The  sun  rises  daily  on  a  new  world.  She 
enters  into  everything  with  the  utmost  zest.  She  was  a  very 
good  sailor,  and  enjoyed  the  voyage,  and  made  friends  with 
everybody.  Really  it  brought  a  thrill  of  pleasure  for  the 
first  time  into  my  poor  heart  to  see  her  delight.  She  will 
be  the  best  of  companions  in  all  my  wanderings. 

In  such  good  company,  we  have  passed  over  the  great  and 
wide  sea,  and  now  set  foot  upon  the  land,  thanking  Him  who 


16  THE   MELANCHOLY   SEA. 

lias  led  us  safely  through  the  mighty  waters.  Yesterday 
morning,  after  the  English  service  had  been  read  in  the 
saloon.  Dr.  Schaff  gave  out  the  hymn, 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 

and  my  heart  responded  fervently  to  the  prayer,  that  all  the 
experiences  of  this  mortal  state,  on  the  sea  and  on  the  land — 
the  storms  of  the  ocean  and  the  storms  of  life — may  serve  this 
one  supreme  object  of  existence,  to  bring  us  nearer  to  God. 


IRELAND — ITS    BEAUTY   AND    ITS    SADNESS.  IT 


CHAPTER  II. 

IRELAND — ITS    BEAUTY   AND    ITS    SADNESS. 

The  Lakes  op  Killabnet,  May  26th. 

There  is  never  but  one  first  impression  ;  all  else  is  second 
in  time  and  in  degree.  It  is  twenty-eight  years  since  I  first 
saw  the  shores  of  England  and  of  Ireland,  and  then  they 
were  to  me  like  some  celestial  country.  It  was  then,  as  now, 
in  the  blessed  spring-time — in  the  merry  month  of  May : 

The  corn  was  springing  fresh  and  green, 
The  lark  sang  loud  and  high  ; 

and  the  banks  of  the  Mersey,  as  I  sailed  up  to  Liverpool, 
were  like  the  golden  shores  of  Paradise. 

Now  I  am  somewhat  of  a  traveller,  and  should  take  these 
things  more  quietly,  were  it  not  for  a  pair  of  young  eyes  be- 
side me,  through  which  I  see  things  anew,  and  taste  again 
the  sweetness  of  that  earlier  time.  If  we  had  landed  in  the 
moon,  my  companion  could  not  have  been  at  first  more  be- 
wildered and  delighted  with  what  she  saw ;  everything  was 
so  queer  and  quaint,  so  old  and  strange — in  a  word,  so  unlike 
all  she  had  ever  seen  before.  The  streets  were  different,  be- 
ing very  narrow,  and  winding  up  hill  and  down  dale ;  the 
houses  were  different,  standing  close  up  to  the  street,  without 
the  relief  of  grass,  or  lawn,  or  even  of  stately  ascending 
steps  in  front ;  the  thatched  cottages  and  the  flowering  hedge- 
rows— all  were  new. 

To  heighten  the  impression  of  what  was  so  fresh  to  the 
eye,  the  country  was  in  its  most  beautiful  season.  We  left 
New  York  still  looking  cold  and  cheerless  from  the  backward 
spring ;  here  the  spring  had  burst  into  its  full  glory.     The 


18  IRELAND — ITS    BEAUTY   AND    ITS    SADNESS. 

ivy  mantled  every  old  tower  and  ruin  with  the  richest  green ; 
the  hawthorn  was  in  blossom,  making  the  hedge-rows,  as  we 
whirled  along  the  roads,  a  mass  of  white  and  green,  filling 
the  eye  with  its  beauty  and  the  air  with  its  fragrance.  Thus 
there  was  an  intoxication  of  the  senses,  as  well  as  of  the 
imagination;  and  if  the  girls  (for  two  others,  under  the 
charge  of  Prof.  Hyde,  had  joined  our  party)  had  leaped 
from  the  carriage,  and  commenced  a  romp  or  a  dance  on  the 
greensward,  we  could  hardly  have  been  surprised,  as  an  ex- 
pression of  their  childish  joy,  and  their  first  greeting  as  they 
touched  the  soil,  not  of  merry  England,  but  of  the  Emerald 
Isle. 

But  if  this  set  them  off  into  such  ecstasies,  what  shall  be 
said  of  their  first  sight  of  a  ruin  ?  Of  course  it  was  Blarney 
Castle,  which  is  near  Cork,  and  famous  for  its  Blarney  Stone. 
A  lordly  castle,  indeed,  it  must  have  been  in  the  days  of  its 
pride,  as  it  still  towers  up  a  hundred  feet  and  more,  and 
its  walls  are  eight  or  ten  feet  thick :  so  that  it  would  have 
lasted  for  ages,  if  Cromwell  had  not  knocked  some  ugly  holes 
through  it  a  little  more  than  two  hundred  years  ago.  But 
still  the  tower  is  beautiful,  being  covered  to  the  very  top  with 
masses  of  ivy,  which  in  England  is  the  great  beautifier  of 
whatever  is  old,  clinging  to  the  mouldering  wall,  covering  up 
the  huge  rents  and  gaps  made  by  cannon  balls,  and  making 
the  most  unsightly  ruins  lovely  in  their  decay.  We  all  climbed 
to  the  top,  where  hangs  in  air,  fastened  by  iron  clamps 
in  its  place,  the  famous  Blarney  Stone,  which  is  said  to  im- 
part to  whoever  kisses  it  the  gift  of  eloquence,  which  will 
make  one  successful  in  love  and  in  life.  As  it  was,  only  one 
pressed  forward  to  snatch  this  prize  which  it  held  out  to 
our  embrace.  Dr.  Schaflf  even  "  poked  "  the  stone  disdain- 
fully with  his  staff,  perhaps  thinking  it  would  become  like 
Aaron's  rod  that  budded.  The  lack  of  enthusiasm,  however, 
may  have  been  owiug  to  the  fact  that  the  stone  hangs  at  a 
iliz  iy  height,  and  is  therefore  somewhat  difficult  of  approach  ; 


IRELAND — ITS    BEAUTY   AND    ITS    SADNESS.  19 

for  on  descending  within  the  castle,  where  is  another  Blarney 
Stone  lying  on  the  ground,  and  within  easy  reach,  I  can  tes- 
tify that  several  of  the  party  gave  it  a  hearty  smack,  not  to 
catch  any  mysterious  virtue  from  the  stone,  but  the  flavor  of 
thousands  of  fair  lips  that  had  kissed  it  before. 

Before  leaving  this  old  castle,  as  we  shall  have  many  more 
to  see  hereafter,  let  me  say  a  word  about  castles  in  general. 
They  are  well  enough  as  ruins,  and  certainly,  as  they  are 
scattered  about  Ireland  and  England,  they  add  much  to  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  landscapes,  and  will  always  possess  a 
romantic  interest.  But  viewed  in  the  sober  light  of  history, 
they  are  monuments  of  an  age  of  barbarism,  when  the  coun- 
try was  divided  among  a  hundred  chiefs,  each  of  whom  had 
his  stronghold,  out  of  which  he  could  sally  to  attack  his  less 
powerful  neighbor.  Everything  in  the  construction — the  huge 
walls,  with  narrow  slits  for  windows  through  which  the  ar- 
chers could  pour  arrows,  or  in  later  times  the  musketeers 
could  shower  balls,  on  their  enemies  ;  the  deep  moat  surround 
ing  it ;  the  drawbridge  and  portcullis — all  speak  of  a  time  of 
universal  insecurity,  when  danger  was  abroad,  and  every 
man  had  to  be  armed  against  his  fellow. 

As  a  place  of  habitation,  such  a  fortress  was  not  much  better 
than  a  prison.  The  chieftain  shut  himself  in  behind  massive 
walls,  under  huge  arches,  where  the  sun  could  never  pene- 
trate, where  all  was  dark  and  gloomy  as  a  sepulchre.  I  know 
a  cottage  in  New  England,  on  the  crest  of  one  of  the  Berk- 
shire Hills,  open  on  every  side  to  light  and  air,  kissed  by  the 
rising  and  the  setting  sun,  in  which  there  is  a  hundred  times 
more  of  real  comfort  than  could  have  been  in  one  of  these  old 
castles,  where  a  haughty  baron  passed  his  existence  in  gloomy 
grandeur,  buried  in  sepulchral  gloom. 

And  to  what  darker  purposes  were  these  castles  sometimes 
applied !  Let  one  go  down  into  the  passages  underneath, 
and  see  the  dungeons  underground,  dark,  damp,  and  cold  as 
the  grave,  in  which  prisoners  and  captives  were  buried  alive. 


20  IRELAND — ITS    BEAUTY   AND    ITS    SADNESS. 

One  cannot  grope  his  way  into  these  foul  subterranean  dm> 
geons  without  feeling  that  these  old  castles  are  the  monu- 
ments of  savage  tyrants ;  that  if  these  walls  could  speak, 
they  would  tell  many  a  tale,  not  of  knightly  chivalry,  but  of 
barbarous  cruelty,  that  would  curdle  the  blood  with  horror. 
These  things  take  away  somewhat  of  the  charm  which  Walter 
Scott  has  thrown  about  these  old  "  gallant  knights,"  who 
were  often  no  better  than  robber  chiefs ;  and  I  am  glad  that 
Cromwell  with  his  cannon  battered  their  strongholds  about 
their  ears.  Let  these  relics  remain  covered  with  ivy,  and 
picturesque  as  ruins,  but  let  it  never  be  forgotten  that  they 
are  the  fallen  monuments  of  an  age  of  barbarism,  of  terror, 
and  of  cruelty. 

There  is  one  other  feature  of  this  country  that  cannot  be 
omitted  from  a  survey  of  Ireland — it  is  the  beggars,  who  are 
sure  to  give  an  American  a  warm  welcome.  They  greet  him 
with  whines  and  grimaces  and  pitiful  beseechings,  to  which 
he  cannot  harden  his  heart.  My  first  salutation  at  Queens- 
town  on  Monday  morning,  on  coming  out  in  front  of  the 
hotel  to  take  a  view  of  the  beautiful  bay,  was  from  an  old 
woman  in  rags,  who  certainly  looked  what  she  described  her- 
self to  be,  "  a  poor  crathur,  that  had  nobody  to  care  for 
her,"  and  who  besought  me,  "  for  the  love  of  God,  to  give 
her  at  least  the  price  of  a  cup  of  tea  !  "  Of  course  I  did, 
when  she  gave  me  an  Irish  blessing :  "  May  the  gates  of 
Paradise  open  to  ye,  and  to  all  them  that  loves  ye  !  "  This 
vision  of  Paradise  seems  to  be  a  favorite  one  with  the  Irish 
beggar,  and  is  sometimes  coupled  with  extraordinary  images, 
as  when  one  blesses  her  benefactor  in  this  overflowing  style : 
"  May  every  hair  on  your  head  be  a  candle  to  light  you  to 
Paradise  !  " 

Tliis  quick  wit  of  the  Irish  serves  them  better  than  their 
poverty  in  appealing  for  charity ;  and  I  must  confess  that  I 
have  violated  all  the  rules  laid  down  by  charitable  societies, 
*'  not  to  give  to  beggars,"  for  I  have  filled  my  pockets  with 


IRELAND ITS    BEAUTY   AND    ITS    SADNESS.  21 

pennies,  and  given  to  hordes  of  ragamuffins,  as  well  as  to  old 
women,  to  hear  their  answers,  which,  though  largely  infused 
with  Irish  blarney,  have  a  flavor  of  native  wit.  Who  could 
resist  such  a  blessing  as  this  :  "  May  ye  ride  in  a  fine  carriage, 
and  the  mud  of  your  wheels  splash  the  face  of  your  inimies," 
then  with  a  quick  turn,  "though  I  know  ye  haven't  any  !  " 

Yesterday  we  made  an  excursion  through  the  Gap  of  Dun- 
loe,  a  famous  gorge  in  the  mountains  around  Killarney,  and 
were  set  upon  by  the  whole  fraternity — ragtag  and  bobtail. 
At  the  foot  of  the  pass  we  left  our  jaunting  car  to  walk  over 

the   mountain,  C alone    being  mounted    on  a  pony.     I 

walked  by  her  side,  while  our  two  theological  professors 
strode  ahead.  The  women  were  after  them  in  full  ci-y,  each 
with  a  bowl  of  goat's  milk  and  a  bottle  of  u  mountain  dew  " 
(Irish  whiskoy),  to  work  upon  their  generous  feelings.  But 
they  produced  no  impression  ;  the  professors  were  absorbed 
in  theology  or  something  else,  and  setting  their  faces  with 
all  the  sternness  of  Calvinism  against  this  vile  beggary,  they 
kept  moving  up  the  mountain  path.  At  length  the  beggars 
gave  them  up  in  despair,  and  returned  to  try  their  mild  solic- 
itations upon  me.  An  old  siren,  coming  up  in  a  tender  and 
confiding  way,  whispered  to  me,  w  You're  the  best  looking 
of  the  lot ;  and  it  is  a  nice  lady  ye  have;  and  a  fine  couple 
ye  make."  That  was  enough  ;  she  got  her  money.  I  felt  a 
little  elated  with  the  distinguished  and  superior  air  which 
even  beggars  had  discovered  in  my  aspect  and  bearing,  till 
on  returning  to  the  hotel,  one  of  our  professors  coolly  inform- 
ed me  that  the  same  old  witch  had  previously  told  him  that 
"  he  was  the  darling  of  the  party  !  "  After  that,  who  will 
ever  believe  a  beggar's  compliment  again  ? 

But  we  must  not  let  the  beggars  on  the  way  either  amuse 
or  provoke  us,  so  as  to  divert  our  attention  from  the  natural 
grandeur  and  beauty  around  us.  The  region  of  the  Lakes 
of  Killarney  is  at  once  the  most  wild  and  the  most  beautiful 
portion  of  Ireland.     These  Lakes  are  set  as  in  a  bowl,  in  the 


22  IRELAND ITS    BEAUTY   AND    ITS    SADNESS. 

hollow  of  rugged  mountains,  which  are  not  like  the  Green 
Mountains,  or  the  Catskills,  wooded  to  the  top,  but  bald  and 
black,  their  heads  being  swept  by  perpetual  storms  from  the 
Atlantic,  that  keep  them  always  bleak  and  bare.  Yet  in  the 
heart  of  these  barren  mountains,  in  the  very  centre  of  all 
this  savage  desolation,  lie  these  lovely  sheets  of  water.  No 
wonder  that  they  are  sought  by  tourists  from  America,  and 
from  all  parts  of  the  world. 

Nor  are  their  shores  without  verdure  and  beauty.  Though 
the  mountain  sides  are  bare  rock,  like  the  peaks  of  volcanoes, 
yet  the  lower  hills  and  meadows  bordering  on  the  Lakes  are 
in  a  high  state  of  cultivation.  But  these  oases  of  fertility 
are  not  for  the  people ;  they  all  belong  to  great  estates — 
chiefly  to  the  Earl  of  Kenmare  and  a  Mr.  Herbert,  who  is  a 
Member  of  Parliament.  These  estates  are  enclosed  with  high 
walls,  as  if  to  keep  them  not  only  from  the  intrusion  of  the 
people,  but  even  from  being  seen  by  them.  The  great  rule 
of  English  exclusiveness  here  obtains,  as  in  the  construction 
of  the  old  feudal  castles,  the  object  in  both  cases  being  the 
same,  to  keep  the  owners  in,  and  to  shut  everybody  else  out. 
Hence  the  contrast  between  what  is  within  and  what  is  with- 
out these  enclosures.  Within  all  is  greenness  and  fertility ; 
without  all  is  want  and  misery.  It  will  not  do  to  impute 
the  latter  entirely  to  the  natural  shiftlessness  of  the  Irish 
people,  as  if  they  would  rather  beg  than  work.  They  have 
very  little  motive  to  work.  They  cannot  own  a  foot  of  the 
soil.  The  Earl  of  Kenmare  may  have  thousands  of  acres  for 
his  game,  but  not  a  foot  will  he  sell  to  an  Irish  laborer,  how- 
ever worthy  or  industrious.  Hence  the  inevitable  tendency 
cf  things  is  to  impoverish  more  and  more  the  wretched  peas- 
antry. How  long  would  even  the  farmers  of  New  England 
retain  their  sturdy  independence,  if  all  the  land  of  a  county 
were  in  a  single  estate,  and  they  could  not  by  any  possibility 
get  an  acre  of  ground  ?  They  would  soon  lose  their  self- 
respect,  as  they  sank  from  the  condition  of  owners  to  tenants. 


IRELAND — ITS    BEAUTY   AND    ITS    SADNESS.  23 

The  more  I  see  of  different  countries,  the  more  T  am  con 
vinced  that  the  first  condition  of  a  robust  and  manly  race  is 
that  they  should  have  within  their  reach  some  means,  either 
by  culture  of  the  soil  or  by  some  other  kind  of  industry,  of 
securing  for  themselves  an  honest  and  decent  support.  It  is 
impossible  to  keep  up  self-respect  when  there  is  no  means  of 
livelihood.  Hence  the  feeling  of  sadness  that  mingles  with 
all  this  beauty  around  me  ;  that  it  is  a  country  where  all  is 
for  the  few,  and  nothing  for  the  many  ;  where  the  poor  starve, 
while  a  few  nobles  and  rich  landlords  can  spend  their  sub- 
stance in  riotous  living.  Kingsley,  in  one  of  his  novels,  puts 
into  the  mouth  of  an  English  sailor  these  lines,  which  always 
seemed  to  me  to  have  a  singular  pathos : 

"  Oh  !   England  is  a  pleasant  place  for  them  that's  rich  and  high  ; 
But  England  is  a  cruel  place  for  such  poor  folks  as  I." 

That  is  the  woe  of  Ireland — a  woe  inwrought  with  its  very 
institutions,  and  which  it  would  seem  only  some  social  con- 
vulsion could  remove.  Sooner  or  later  it  must  come ;  we 
hope  by  peaceful  methods  and  gentle  influences.  We  shall 
not  live  to  see  the  time,  but  we  trust  another  generation  may, 
when  the  visitor  to  Killarney  shall  not  have  his  delight  in 
the  works  of  God  spoiled  by  sight  of  the  wretchedness  ot 
man ;  when  instead  of  troops  of  urchins  in  rags,  with  bare 
feet,  running  for  miles  to  catch  the  pennies  thrown  from 
jaunting  cars,  we  shall  see  happy,  rosy-cheeked  children  issu- 
ing from  school-houses,  and  see  the  white  spires  of  pretty 
churches  gleaming  in  the  valleys  and  on  the  hills.  That 
will  be  the  "  sunburst "  indeed  for  poor  old  Ireland,  when 
the  glory  of  the  Lord  is  thus  seen  upon  her  waters  and  hei 
mountains. 


24  SCOTLAND  AND  THE  SCOTCH. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SCOTLAND  AND  THE  SCOTCH. 

Edinburgh,  Jnce  3d. 

In  making  the  tour  of  Great  Britain,  there  is  an  advantage 
in  taking  Ireland  first,  Scotland  next,  and  England  last, — 
since  in  this  way  one  is  always  going  from  the  less  to  the 
more  interesting.  To  the  young  American  traveller  "  fresh 
and  green,"  with  enthusiasm  unexpended,  it  seems  on  landing 
in  Ireland  as  if  there  never  was  such  a  bit  of  green  earth, 
and  indeed  it  is  a  very  interesting  country.  But  many  as 
are  its  attractions,  Scotland  has  far  more,  in  that  it  is  the 
home  of  a  much  greater  people,  and  is  invested  with  far  richer 
historical  and  poetical  associations ;  it  has  been  the  scene  of 
great  historical  events  ;  it  is  the  land  of  Wallace  and  Bruce, 
of  Reformers  and  Martyrs,  of  John  Knox  and  the  Cove- 
nanters, and  of  great  preachers  down  to  the  days  of  Chalmers 
and  Guthrie  ;  and  it  has  been  immortalized  by  the  genius  of 
poets  and  novelists,  who  have  given  a  fresh  interest  to  the 
simple  manners  of  the  people,  as  well  as  to  their  lakes  and 
mountains. 

And  after  all,  it  is  this  human  interest  which  is  the  great 
interest  of  any  country — not  its  hills  and  valleys,  its  lakes 
and  rivers  alone,  but  these  features  of  natural  beauty  and 
sublimity,  illumined  and  glorified  by  the  presence  of  man,  by 
the  record  of  what  he  has  suffered  and  what  he  has  achieved, 
of  his  love  and  courage,  his  daring  and  devotion ;  and 
nowhere  are  these  more  identified  with  the  country  itself  than 
here,  nowhere  do  they  more  speak  from  the  very  rocks  and 
hills  and  glens. 

Scotland,  though  a  great  country,  is  not  a  very  large  one, 


SCOTLAND  AND  TDTE  SCOTCH.  25 

and  such  are  now  the  facilities  of  travel  that  one  can  go  very 
quickly  to  almost  any  point.  A  few  hours  will  take  you  into 
the  heart  of  the  Highlands.  We  made  in  one  day  the  excur- 
sion to  Stirling,  and  to  Loch  Lomond  and  Loch  Katrine,  and 
felt  at  every  step  how  much  the  beauties  of  nature  are 
heightened  by  associations  with  romance  or  history.  From 
Stirling  Castle  one  looks  down  upon  a  dozen  battle-fields. 
He  is  in  sight  of  Bannockburn,  where  Bruce  drove  back  the 
English  invader,  and  of  other  fields  associated  with  Wallace, 
the  hero  of  Scotland,  as  William  Tell  is  of  Switzerland. 
Once  among  the  lakes  he  surrenders  himself  to  his  imagina- 
tion, excited  by  romance.  The  poetry  of  Scott  gives  to  the 
wild  glens  and  moors  a  greater  charm  than  the  bloom  of  the 
heather.  The  lovely  lake  catches,  more  beautiful  than  the 
rays  of  sunset, 

4 '  A  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  shore, 
The  inspiration  and  the  poet's  dream. " 

Loch  Katrine  is  a  very  pretty  sheet  of  water,  lying  as  it 
does  at  the  foot  of  rugged  mountains,  yet  it  is  not  more  beau- 
tiful than  hundreds  of  small  lakes  among  our  Northern  hills, 
but  it  derives  a  poetic  charm  from  being  the  scene  of  "  The 
Lady  of  the  Lake."  A  little  rocky  islet  is  pointed  out  as 
Ellen's  Isle.  An  open  field  by  the  roadside,  which  would 
attract  no  attention,  immediately  becomes  an  object  of  roman- 
tic interest  when  the  coachman  tells  us  it  was  the  scene  of 
the  combat  between  Fitz  James  and  Roderick  Dhu.  The 
rough  country  over  which  we  are  riding  just  now  is  no 
wilder  than  many  of  the  roads  among  the  White  Mountains 
— but  it  is  the  country  of  Rob  Roy !  I  have  climbed 
through  many  a  rocky  mountain  gorge  as  wild  as  the  Tros- 
sachs,  but  they  had  not  Walter  Scott  to  people  them  with 
his  marvellous  creations. 

A  student  of  the  religious  part  of  Scottish  history  will  find 
another  interest  here,  as  he  remembers  how,  in  the  days  of 


26  SCOTLAND  AND  THE  SCOTCH. 

persecution,  the  old  Covenanters  sought  refuge  in  these  glens, 
and  here  found  shelter  from  those  pursuing  rough-riders, 
Claverhouse's  dragoons.  Thus  it  is  the  history  of  Scotland, 
and  the  genius  of  her  writers,  that  give  such  interest  to  her 
country  and  her  people ;  and  as  I  stood  at  the  grave  of  John 
Wilson  (Christopher  North),  I  blessed  the  hand  that  had 
depicted  so  tenderly  the  "  Lights  and  Shadows  of  Scottish 
Life,"  presenting  such  varied  scenes  in  the  cottage  and  the 
manse,  in  the  glen  and  on  the  moor,  but  everywhere  illustrat- 
ing the  patient  trust  and  courage  of  this  wonderful  people. 
It  is  a  fit  winding  up  to  the  tour  of  Scotland,  that  commonly 
the  traveller's  last  visit,  as  he  comes  down  to  England,  is  to 
A bbotsford,  the  home  of  Walter  Scott ;  to  Melrose  Abbey, 
which  a  few  lines  of  his  poetry  have  invested  with  an  inter- 
est greater  than  that  of  other  similar  ruins  ;  and  to  Dry  burgh 
Abbey,  where  he  sleeps. 

Edinburgh  is  the  most  picturesque  city  in  Europe,  as  it  is 
cleft  in  twain  by  a  deep  gorge  or  ravine,  on  either  side  of 
which  the  two  divisions  of  the  city,  the  Old  Town  and  the 
New  Town,  stand  facing  each  other.  From  the  Royal  Hotel, 
where  we  are,  in  Princes  street,  just  opposite  the  beautiful 
monument  to  Walter  Scott,  we  look  across  this  gorge  to  long 
ranges  of  buildings  in  the  Old  Town,  some  of  which  are  ten 
stories  high ;  and  to  the  Castle,  lifted  in  air  four  hundred 
feet  by  a  cliff  that  rears  its  rocky  front  from  the  valley  below, 
its  top  girt  round  with  walls,  and  frowning  with  batteries. 
What  associations  cluster  about  those  heights  !  For  hun- 
dreds of  years,  even  before  the  date  of  authentic  history, 
that  has  been  a  military  stronghold.  It  has  been  besieged 
again  and  again.  Cromwell  tried  to  take  it,  but  its  battle- 
ments of  rock  proved  inaccessible  even  to  his  Ironsides. 
There,  in  a  little  room  hardly  bigger  than  a  closet,  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  gave  birth  to  a  prince,  who  when  but  eight 
days  old  was  let  down  in  a  basket  from  the  cliff,  that  the  life 
so  precious  to  two  kingdoms  as  that  of  the  sovereign  in  whom 


SCOTLAND  AND  THE  SCOTCH.  27 

Scotland  and  England  were  to  be  united,  might  not  perish 
by  murderous  hands.  And  there  is  St.  Giles'  Cathedral, 
where  John  Knox  thundered,  and  where  James  VI.  (the  in- 
fant that  was  bom  in  the  castle)  when  chosen  to  be  James  I. 
of  England,  took  leave  of  his  Scottish  subjects. 

At  the  other  end  of  Edinburgh  is  Holyrood  Castle,  whose 
chief  interest  is  from  its  association  with  the  mother  of  James, 
the  beautiful  but  ill-fated  Mary.  How  all  that  history, 
stranger  and  sadder  than  any  romance,  comes  back  again,  as 
we  stand  on  the  very  spot  where  she  stood  when  she  was 
married ;  and  pass  through  the  rooms  in  which  she  lived, 
and  see  the  very  bed  on  which  she  slept,  unconscious  of  the 
doom  that  was  before  her,  and  trace  all  the  surroundings  of 
her  most  romantic  and  yet  most  tragic  history.  Such  are 
some  of  the  associations  which  gather  around  Edinburgh ! 

I  find  here  my  friend  Mr.  William  Nelson  (of  the  famous 
publishing  house  of  Nelson  and  Sons),  whose  hospitality  I  en- 
joyed for  a  week  in  the  summer  of  1867;  and  he,  with  his 
usual  courtesy,  gave  up  a  whole  day  to  show  us  Edinburgh, 
taking  us  to  all  the  beautiful  points  of  view  and  places  of  his- 
torical interest — to  the  Castle  and  Holyrood,  and  the  Queen's 
Drive,  around  Arthur's  Seat  and  Salisbury  Crags.  Mr.  Nel- 
son's house  is  a  little  out  of  the  city,  under  the  shadow  of 
Arthur's  Seat,  near  a  modest  manse,  which  has  been  visited 
by  hundreds  of  American  ministers,  as  it  was  the  home  of 
the  late  Dr.  Guthrie.  His  brother,  Mr.  Thomas  Nelson, 
has  lately  erected  one  of  the  most  beautiful  private  houses  I 
have  seen  in  Scotland,  er  anywhere  else.  I  doubt  if  there 
is  a  finer  one  in  Edinburgh  ;  and  what  gives  it  a  special  in- 
terest to  an  American,  is  that  it  was  built  wholly  out  of  the 
rise  of  American  securities.  During  our  civil  war,  when 
most  people  in  England  thought  the  Great  Republic  was  gone, 
he  had  faith,  and  invested  thousands  of  pounds  in  our  gov- 
ernment bonds,  the  rise  in  which  has  paid  entirely  for  this 
quite  baronial  mansion,  so  that  he  has  some  reason  to  call 


28  SCOTLAND  AND  THE  SCOTCH. 

it  his  American  house.  So  many  in  Great  Britain  have  lost 
by  American  securities,  that  it  was  pleasant  to  know  of  one 
who  had  reaped  the  reward  of  his  faith  in  the  strength  of 
our  government  and  the  integrity  of  our  people. 

When  we  reached  Edinburgh  both  General  Assemblies  were 
just  closing  their  annual  meetings.  I  had  met  in  Glasgow,  on 
Sunday,  at  the  Barony  church  (where  he  is  successor  to  Dr. 
Norman  Macleod),  John  Marshall  Lang,  D.D.,  who  visited 
America  as  a  delegate  to  our  General  Assembly,  and  left  a 
most  favorable  impression  in  our  country  ;  who  told  me  that 
their  Assembly — that  of  the  National  Church — would  close 
the  next  day,  and  advised  me  to  hasten  to  Edinburgh  before 
its  separation.  So  we  came  on  with  him  on  Monday,  and 
looked  in  twice  at  the  proceedings,  but  had  not  courage  to 
stay  to  witness  the  end,  which  was  not  reached  till  four  o'clock 
the  next  morning !  But  by  the  courtesy  of  Dr.  Lang,  I  re- 
ceived an  invitation  from  the  excellent  moderator,  Dr.  Sellars, ' 
(who  had  been  in  America,  and  had  the  most  friendly  feeling 
for  our  countrymen,)  to  a  kind  of  state  dinner,  which  it  is  an 
honored  custom  of  this  old  Church  to  give  at  the  close  of  the 
Assembly.  The  moderator  is  allowed  two  hundred  pounds  to 
entertain.  He  gives  a  public  breakfast  every  morning  during 
the  session,  and  winds  up  with  this  grand  feast.  If  the  morn- 
ing repasts  were  on  such  a  generous  scale  as  that  which  we 
saw,  the  £200  could  go  but  a  little  way.  There  were  about 
eighty  guests,  including  the  most  eminent  of  the  clergy,  prin- 
cipals and  professors  of  colleges,  dignitaries  of  the  city  of 
Edinburgh,  judges  and  law  officers  of  the  crown,  etc.  I  sat 
next  to  Dr.  Lang,  who  pointed  out  to  me  the  more  notable 
guests,  and  gave  me  much  information  between  the  courses ; 
and  Dr.  Schaff  sat  next  to  Professor  Milligan.  As  became 
an  Established  Church,  there  were  toasts  to  the  Queen,  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  her  Majesty's  Ministers.  Altogether 
it  was  a  very  distinguished  gathering,  which  I  greatly  enjoyed. 
I  am  glad  that  we  in  America  are  beginning  to  cultivate  re- 


SCOTLAND  AND  THE  SCOTCH.  29 

lations  with  the  National  Church  of  Scotland.  As  to  the 
question  of  Church  and  State,  of  course  our  sympathies  are 
more  with  the  Free  Church,  but  that  should  not  prevent  a 
friendly  intercourse  with  so  large  a  body,  to  which  we  are 
drawn  by  the  ties  of  a  common  faith  and  order.  Delegates 
from  the  National  Church  of  Scotland  will  always  be  welcome 
in  our  Assemblies,  especially  when  they  are  such  men  as  Dr. 
Lang  and  Professor  Milligan ;  and  our  representatives  are 
sure  of  a  hearty  reception  here.  Dr.  Adams  and  Dr.  Shaw, 
two  or  three  years  since,  electrified  their  Assembly,  and  they 
do  not  cease  to  speak  of  it.  Certainly  we  cannot  but  be 
greatly  benefited  by  cultivating  the  most  cordial  relations 
with  a  body  which  contains  so  large  an  array  of  men  distin- 
guished for  learning,  eloquence,  and  piety. 

In  the  Free  Church  things  are  done  with  less  of  form  and 
state  than  in  the  National  Church,  but  there  is  intense  life 
and  vigor.  I  looked  in  upon  their  Assembly,  but  found  it 
occupied,  like  the  other,  chiefly  with  those  routine  matters 
which  are  hastened  through  at  the  close  of  a  session.  But  I 
heard  from  members  that  the  year  has  been  one  of  great 
prosperity.  The  labors  of  the  American  revivalists,  Moody 
and  Sankey,  have  been  well  received,  and  the  impression  of 
all  with  whom  I  conversed  was  that  they  had  done  great 
good.  In  financial  matters  I  was  told  that  there  had  been 
such  an  outpouring  of  liberality  as  had  never  been  known  in 
Scotland  before.  The  success  of  the  Sustentation  Fund  is 
something  marvellous,  and  must  delight  the  heart  of  that 
noble  son  of  Scotland,  Dr.  McCosh. 

I  am  disappointed  to  find  that  the  cause  of  Union  has  not 
made  more  progress.  There  is  indeed  a  prospect  of  the  "  He- 
formed  "  Church  being  absorbed  into  the  Free  Church,  thus 
putting  an  end  to  an  old  secession.  But  it  is  a  small  body  of 
only  some  eighty  churches,  while  the  negotiations  with  the  far 
larger  body  of  United  Presbyterians,  after  being  carried  on  for 
many  years,  are  finally  suspended,  and  may  not  be  resumed. 


30  SCOTLAND  AND  THE  SCOTCH. 

As  to  the  National  Church,  it  clings  to  its  connection  with 
the  State  as  fondly  as  ever,  and  the  Free  Church,  having 
grown  strong  without  its  aid,  now  disdains  its  alliance.  On 
both  sides  the  attitude  is  one  of  respectful  but  pretty  decided 
aversion.  So  far  from  drawing  nearer  to  each  other,  they 
appear  to  rece  Je  farther  apart.  It  was  thought  that  some 
advance  had  been  made  on  the  part  of  the  Old  Kirk,  in  the  act 
of  Parliament  abolishing  patronage,  but  the  Free  Church 
seemed  to  regard  this  as  a  temptation  of  the  adversary  to 
allure  them  from  the  stand  which  they  had  taken  more  than 
thirty  years  ago,  and  which  they  had  maintained  in  a  long 
and  severe,  but  glorious,  struggle.  They  will  not  listen  to  the 
voice  of  the  charmer,  no,  not  for  an  hour. 

This  attitude  of  the  Free  Church  toward  the  National 
Church,  coupled  with  the  fact  that  its  negotiations  with  the 
United  Presbyterians  have  fallen  through,  does  not  give  us 
much  hope  of  a  general  union  among  the  Presbyterians  of 
Scotland,  at  least  in  our  day.  In  fact  there  is  something  in 
the  Scotch  nature  which  seems  to  forbid  such  coalescence. 
It  does  not  fuse  well.  It  is  too  hard  and  "gritty"  to  melt  in 
every  crucible.  For  this  reason  they  cannot  well  unite  with 
any  body.  Their  very  nature  is  centrifugal  rather  than  cen- 
tripetal. They  love  to  argue,  and  the  more  they  argue  the 
more  positive  they  become.  The  conviction  that  they  are 
right,  is  absolute  on  both  sides.  Whatever  other  Christian 
grace  they  lack,  they  have  at  least  attained  to  a  full  assurance 
of  faith.  No  one  can  help  admiring  their  rugged  honesty 
and  their  strong  convictions,  upheld  with  unflinching  courage. 
They  become  heroes  in  the  day  of  battle,  and  martyrs  in  the 
day  of  persecution  ;  but  as  for  mutual  concession,  and  mutual 
forgiveness,  that,  I  fear,  is  not  in  them. 

It  is  painful  to  see  this  alienation  between  two  bodies,  for 
both  of  which  we  cannot  but  feel  the  greatest  respect.  It 
does  not  become  us  Americans  to  offer  any  counsel  to  those 
who  are  older  and  wiser  than  we ;  yet  if  we  might  send  a 


SCOTLAND  AND  THE  SCOTCH.  31 

single  message  across  the  sea,  it  should  be  to  say  that  we 
have  learned  by  all  our  conflicts  and  struggles  to  cherish  two 
things — which  are  our  watchwords  in  Church  and  State — 
liberty  and  union.  We  prize  our  liberty.  With  a  great 
price  we  have  obtained  this  freedom,  and  no  man  shall  take 
it  from  us.  But  yet  we  have  also  learned  how  precious  a 
thing  is  brotherly  love  and  concord.  Sweet  is  the  com- 
munion of  saints.  This  is  the  last  blessing  which,  we  desire 
for  Scotland,  that  has  so  many  virtues  that  we  cannot  but 
wish  that  she  might  abound  in  this  grace  also.  Even 
with  this  imperfection,  we  love  her  country  and  her  people. 
Whoever  has  had  access  to  Scottish  homes,  must  have  been 
struck  with  their  beautiful  domestic  character,  with  the  at- 
tachment in  families,  with  the  tenderness  of  parents,  and 
the  affectionate  obedience  of  children.  A  country  in  which 
the  scenes  of  "  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night n  are  repeated  in 
thousands  of  homes,  we  cannot  help  loving  as  well  as  admiring. 
Wherefore  do  I  say  from  my  heart,  A  thousand  blessings  on 
dear  old  Scotland  !  Peace  be  within  her  walls,  and  prosper- 
ity within  her  palaces ! 


32  MOODY  AND  SANKEY  IN  LONDON. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MOODY  AND  SANKEY  IN  LONDON. 

London,  June  10th. 
To  an  American,  visiting  London  just  now,  the  object  01 
most  interest  is  the  meetings  of  his  countrymen,  Moody  and 
Sankey.  He  has  heard  so  much  of  them,  that  he  is  curious 
to  see  with  his  own  eyes  just  what  they  are.  One  thing  is 
undeniable — that  they  have  created  a  prodigious  sensation. 
London  is  a  very  big  place  to  make  a  stir  in.  A  pebble 
makes  a  ripple  in  a  placid  lake,  while  a  rock  falling  from  the 
side  of  a  mountain  disappears  in  an  instant  in  the  ocean. 
London  is  an  ocean.  Yet  here  these  meetings  have  been 
thronged  as  much  as  in  other  cities  of  Great  Britain,  and  that 
not  by  the  common  people  alone  (although  they  have  heard 
gladly),  but  by  representatives  of  all  classes.  For  several 
weeks  they  were  held  in  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  right  in  the 
centre  of  fashionable  London,  and  in  the  very  place  devoted 
to  its  amusements ;  yet  it  was  crowded  to  suffocation,  and  not 
only  by  Dissenters,  but  by  members  of  the  Established 
Church,  among  whom  were  such  men  as  Dean  Stanley,  and 
Mr.  Gladstone,  and  Lord-Chancellor  Cairns.  The  Duchess 
of  Sutherland  was  a  frequent  attendant.  All  this  indicates, 
if  only  a  sensation,  at  least  a  sensation  of  quite  extraordinary 
character.  No  doubt  the  multitude  was  drawn  together  in 
part  by  curiosity.  The  novelty  was  an  attraction ;  and,  like 
the  old  Athenians,  they  ran  together  into  the  market-place  to 
hear  some  new  thing.  This  alone  would  have  drawn  them 
once  or  twice,  but  the  excitement  did  not  subside.  If  some 
fell  off,  others  rushed  in,  so  that  the  place  was  crowded  to  the 


MOODY  AND  SANKEY  IN  LONDON.  33 

last.  These  meetings  closed  just  before  we  reached  London, 
to  be  opened  in  another  quarter  of  the  great  city. 

Last  Sunday  we  went  to  hear  Mr.  Spurgeon,  and  he 
announced  that  on  Thursday  (to-day)  Messrs.  Moody  and 
Sankey  would  commence  a  new  series  of  meetings  for  the 
especial  benefit  of  the  South  of  London.  A  large  structure 
had  been  erected  for  the  purpose.  He  warmly  endorsed  the 
movement,  and  spcke  in  high  praise  of  the  men,  especially 
for  the  modesty  and  tact  and  the  practical  judgment  they 
showed  along  with  their  zeal ;  and  urged  all,  instead  of  stand- 
ing aloof  and  criticizing,  to- join  heartily  in  the  effort  which 
he  believed  would  result  in  great  good.  In  a  conversation 
afterward  in  his  study,  Mr.  Spurgeon  said  to  me  that  Moody 
was  the  most  simple-minded  of  men  ;  that  he  told  him  on 
coming  here,  "  I  am  the  most  over-estimated  and  over-praised 
man  in  the  world."  This  low  esteem  of  himself,  and  readi- 
ness to  take  any  place,  so  that  he  may  do  his  Master's  work, 
ought  to  disarm  the  disposition  to  judge  him  according  to 
the  rules  of  rigid  literary,  or  rhetorical,  or  even  theological, 
criticism. 

This  new  tabernacle  which  has  been  built  for  Mr.  Moody 
is  set  up  at  Camberwell  Green,  on  the  south  side  of  the 
Thames,  not  very  far  from  Mr.  Spurgeon's  church.  It  is  a 
huge  structure,  standing  in  a  large  enclosure,  which  is  entered 
by  gates.  The  service  was  to  begin  at  three  o'clock.  It  was 
necessary  to  have  tickets  for  admission,  which  I  obtained  from 
the  Hon.  Arthur  Kinnaird,  a  Member  of  Parliament,  who  is 
about  as  well  known  in  London  as  Lord  Shaftesbury  for  his 
activity  in  all  good  works.  He  advised  me  to  go  early  to  an- 
ticipate the  crowd.  We  started  from  Piccadilly  at  half-past 
one,  and  drove  quietly  over  Westminster  Bridge,  thinking  we 
should  be  in  ample  time.  But  as  we  approached  Camberwell 
Green  it  was  evident  that  there  was  a  tide  setting  toward  the 
place  of  meeting,  which  swelled  till  the  crowd  became  a  rush. 
There  were  half  a  dozen  entrances.  We  asked  for  the  one 
2* 


34  MOODY  AND  SANKEY  IN  LONDON. 

to  the  platform,  and  were  directed  some  distance  around. 
Areived  at  the  gates  we  found  them  shut  and  barred,  and 
guarded  by  policemen,  who  said  they  had  received  orders 
to  admit  no  more,  as  the  place  was  already  more  than  full, 
although  the  pressure  outside  was  increasing  every  instant. 
We  might  have  been  turned  back  from  the  very  doors  of  the 
sanctuary,  if  Mr.  Kinnaird  had  not  given  me,  besides  the 
tickets,  a  letter  to  Mr.  Hodder,  who  was  the  chief  man  in 
charge,  directing  him  to  take  us  in  and  give  us  seats  on  the 
platform.  This  I  passed  through  the  gates  to  the  policeman, 
who  sent  it  on  to  some  of  the  managers  within,  and  word 
came  back  that  the  bearers  of  the  letter  should  be  admitted. 
But  this  was  easier  said  than  done.  How  to  admit  us  two 
without  admitting  others  was  a  difficult  matter ;  indeed,  it 
was  an  impossibility.  The  policemen  tried  to  open  the  gates 
a  little  way,  so  as  to  permit  us  to  pass  in ;  but  as  soon  as  the 
gates  were  ajar,  the  guardians  themselves  were  swept  away. 
In  vain  they  tried  to  stem  the  torrent.  The  crowd  rushed 
past  them,  (and  would  have  rushed  over  them,  if  they  had 
stood  in  the  way,)  and  surged  up  to  the  building.  Here 
again  the  crush  was  terrific.  Had  we  foreseen  it,  we  should 
not  have  attempted  the  passage ;  but  once  in  the  stream,  it 
was  easier  to  go  forward  than  to  go  back.  There  was  no  help 
for  it  but  to  wait  till  the  tide  floated  us  in  ;  and  so,  after  some 
minutes  we  were  landed  at  last  in  one  of  the  galleries,  from 
which  we  could  take  in  a  view  of  the  scene. 

It  was  indeed  a  wonderful  spectacle.  The  building  is 
somewhat  like  Barnum's  Hippodrome,  though  not  so  large, 
and  of  better  shape  for  speaking  and  hearing,  being  not  so 
oblong,  but  more  square,  with  deep  galleries,  and  will  hold, 
I  should  say,  at  a  rough  estimate,  six  or  eight  thousand  peo- 
ple. The  front  of  the  galleries  was  covered  with  texts  in 
large  letters,  such  as  "  God  is  Love  "  ;  "  Jesus  only  " ;  "Look- 
ing unto  Jesus,  the  author  and  finisher  of  our  faith  " ;  "  Come 
unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will 


MOODY  AND  SANKEY  IN  LONDON.  35 

give  you  rest."     At  each  corner  was  a  room  marked  u  For 
inquirers." 

As  we  had  entered  by  mistake  the  wrong  door,  instead  of 
finding  ourselves  on  the  platform  beside  Mr.  Moody,  we  had 
been  borne  by  the  crowd  to  the  gallery  at  the  other  end  of 
the  building ;  but  this  had  one  advantage,  that  of  enabling 
us  to  test  the  power  of  the  voices  of  the  speakers  to  reach  - 
such  large  audiences.  While  the  immense  assemblage  were 
getting  settled  in  their  places,  several  hymns  were  sung,  which 
quietly  and  gently  prepared  them  for  the  services  that  were 
to  follow. 

At  length  Mr.  Moody  appeared.  The  moment  he  rose, 
there  was  a  movement  of  applause,  which  he  instantly  checked 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  business, 
turning  the  minds  of  the  audience  to  something  besides  him- 
self, by  asking  them  to  rise  and  sing  the  stirring  hymn, 

"  Ring  the  bells  of  heaven  !  there  is  joy  to-day  !  " 

The  whole  assembly  rose,  and  caught  up  the  words  with 
such  energy  that  the  rafters  rang  with  the  mighty  volume  of 
sound.  A  venerable  minister,  with  white  locks,  then  rose, 
and  clinging  to  the  railing  for  support,  and  raising  his  voice, 
offered  a  brief  but  fervent  prayer. 

Mr.  Moody's  part  in  this  opening  service,  it  had  been  an- 
nounced beforehand,  would  be  merely  to  preside,  while  others 
spoke ;  and  he  did  little  more  than  to  introduce  them.  He 
read,  however,  a  few  verses  from  the  parable  of  the  talents, 
and  urged  on  every  one  the  duty  to  use  whatever  gift  he  had, 
be  it  great  or  small,  and  not  bury  his  talent  in  a  napkin. 
His  voice  was  clear  and  strong,  and  where  I  sat  I  heard  dis- 
tinctly. What  he  said  was  good,  though  in  no  wise  remark- 
able. Mr.  Sankey  touched  us  much  more  as  he  followed 
with  an  appropriate  hymn  : 

"Nothing  but  leaves!" 

As  soon  as  I  caught  his  first  notes,  I  felt  that  there  was  one 


36  MOODY   AND    SANKEY   IN   LONDON. 

cause  of  the  success  of  these  meetings.  His  voice  is  very 
powerful,  and  every  word  was  given  with  such  distinctness 
that  it  reached  every  ear  in  the  building.  All  listened  with 
breathless  interest  as  he  sang : 

' '  Nothing  but  leaves !  the  Spirit  grieves 
Over  a  wasted  life  ; 
O'er  sins  indulged  while  conscience  slept, 
O'er  vows  and  promises  unkepfc, 

And  reaps  from  years  of  strife — 
Nothing  but  leaves  !  nothing  but  leaves  ! " 

Rev.  Mr.  Aitken,  of  Liverpool,  then  made  an  address  of 
perhaps  half  an  hour,  following  up  the  thought  of  Mr.  Moody 
on  the  duty  of  all  to  join  in  the  effort  they  were  about  to 
undertake.  His  address,  without  being  eloquent,  was  ear- 
nest and  practical,  to  which  Mr.  Sankey  gave  a  thrilling  ap- 
plication in  another  of  his  hymns,  in  which  the  closing  line  of 
every  verse  was, 

"  Here  am  I ;  send  me,  send  me  !  " 

Mr.  Spurgeon  was  reserved  for  the  closing  address,  and 
spoke,  as  he  always  does,  very  forcibly.  I  noticed,  as  I  had 
before,  one  great  element  of  his  power,  viz.,  his  illustrations, 
which  are  most  apt.  For  example,  he  was  urging  ministers 
and  Christians  of  all  denominations  to  join  in  this  movement, 
and  wished  to  show  the  folly  of  a  contentious  spirit  among 
them.     To  expose  its  absurdity,  he  said  : 

"  A  few  years  ago  I  was  in  Rome,  and  there  I  saw  in  the 
Vatican  a  statue  of  two  wrestlers,  in  the  attitude  of  men  try- 
ing to  throw  each  other.  I  went  back  two  years  after,  and 
they  were  in  the  same  struggle,  and  I  suppose  are  at  it 
still !  "  Everybody  saw  the  application.  Such  a  constrained 
posture  might  do  in  a  marble  statue,  but  could  anything  be 
more  ridiculous  '.han  for  living  men  thus  to  stand  always 
facing  each  other  in  an  attitude  of  hostility  and  defiance  ? 
"  And  there  too,"  he  proceeded,  "  was  another  statue  of  a 


MOODY  AND  SANKEY  IN  LONDON.  37 

boy  pulling  a  thorn  out  of  his  foot.  I  went  to  Rome  again, 
and  there  he  was  still,  with  the  same  bended  form,  and  the 
same  look  of  pain,  struggling  to  be  free.  I  suppose  he  is 
there  still,  and  will  be  to  all  eternity  !  "  What  an  apt  im- 
age of  the  self-inflicted  torture  of  some  who,  writhing  under 
real  or  imagined  injury,  hug  their  grievance  and  their  pain, 
instead  of  at  once  tearing  it  away,  and  standing  erect  as 
men  in  the  full  liberty  wherewith  Christ  makes  his  people 
free. 

Again,  he  was  illustrating  the  folly  of  some  ministers  in 
giving  so  much  time  and  thought  to  refuting  infidel  objec- 
tions, by  which  they  often  made  their  people's  minds  fami- 
liar with  what  they  would  never  have  heard  of,  and  filled 
them  with  doubt  and  perplexity.  He  said  the  process  re- 
minded him  of  what  was  done  at  a  grotto  near  Naples,  which 
is  filled  with  carbonic  acid  gas  so  strong  that  life  cannot  exist 
in  it,  to  illustrate  which  the  vile  people  of  the  cave  seize  a 
wretched  dog,  and  throw  him  in,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  poor 
animal  is  nearly  dead.  Then  they  deluge  him  with  cold  water 
to  bring  him  round.  Just  about  as  wise  are  those  ministers 
who,  having  to  preach  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  think  they  must 
first  drop  their  hearers  into  a  pit  filled  with  the  asphyxiating 
gas  of  a  false  philosophy,  to  show  how  they  can  apply  their 
hydropathy  in  reco  vering  them  afterwards.  Better  let  them 
keep  above  ground,  and  breathe  all  the  time  the  pure, 
blessed  air  of  heaven. 

Illustrations  like  these  told  upon  the  audience,  because 
they  were  so  apt,  and  so  informed  with  common  sense.  Mr. 
Spurgeon  has  an  utter  contempt  for  scientific  charlatans  and 
literary  dilettanti,  and  all  that  class  of  men  who  have  no 
higher  business  in  life  than  to  carp  and  criticise.  He  would 
judge  everything  by  its  practical  results.  If  sneering  infidels 
ask,  What  good  religion  does  ?  he  points  to  those  it  has 
saved,  to  the  men  it  has  reformed,  whom  it  has  lifted  up  from 
degradation  and  death ;    and  exolaims  with  his  tremendous 


38  MOODY  AND  SANKEY  IN  LONDON. 

voice,  "  There  they  are !  standing  on  the  shore,  saved  from 
shipwreck  and  ruin  !  "  That  result  is  the  sufficient  answer 
to  all  cavil  and  objection. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Mr.  Spurgeon,  applying  what  he 
had  said,  i(  here  are  these  two  brethren  who  have  come  to  us 
from  over  the  sea,  whom  God  has  blessed  wherever  they  have 
labored  in  Scotland,  in  Ireland,  and  in  England.  It  may 
be  said  they  are  no  wiser  or  better  than  our  own  preachers 
or  laymen.  Perhaps  not.  But  somehow,  whether  by  some 
novelty  of  method,  or  some  special  tact,  they  have  caught  the 
popular  ear,  and  that  of  itself  is  a  great  point  gained — they 
have  got  a  hold  on  the  public  mind."  Again  he  resorted  to 
illustration  to  make  his  point. 

"  Some  years  ago,"  he  said,  "  I  was  crossing  the  Maritime 
Alps.  We  were  going  up  a  pretty  heavy  grade,  and  the  en- 
gine, though  a  powerful  one,  labored  hard  to  drag  us  up  the 
steep  ascent,  till  at  length  it  came  to  a  dead  stop.  I  got  out 
to  see  what  was  the  matter,  for  I  didn't  like  the  look  of 
things,  and  there  we  were  stuck  fast  in  a  snow-drift !  The 
engine  was  working  as  hard  as  ever,  and  the  wheels  con- 
tinued to  revolve ;  but  the  rails  were  icy,  and  the  wheels 
could  not  take  hold — they  could  not  get  any  grip — and  so 
the  train  was  unable  to  move.  So  it  is  with  some  men,  and 
some  ministers.  They  are  splendid  engines,  and  they  have 
steam  enough.  The  wheels  revolve  all  right,  only  they  don't 
get  any  grip  on  the  rails,  and  so  the  train  doesn't  move. 
Now  our  American  friends  have  somehow  got  this  grip  on 
the  public  mind ;  when  they  speak  or  sing,  the  people  hear.' 
Without  debating  why  this  is,  or  how  it  is,  let  us  thank  God 
for  it,  and  try  to  help  them  in  the  use  of  the  power  which 
God  has  given  them." 

After  this  stirring  address  of  Mr.  Spurgeon,  Mr.  Moody 
announced  the  arrangements  for  the  meetings,  which  would 
be  continued  in  that  place  for  thirty  days  ;  and  with  another 
rousing  hymn  the  meeting  closed.     This,  it  is  given  out,  is 


MOODY   AND    SANKEY   IN  LONDON.  39 

to  be  the  last  month  of  Moody  and  Sankey  in  England,  and 
of  course  they  hope  it  will  be  the  crown  of  all  their  labors. 

After  the  service  was  ended,  and  the  audience  had  partly 
dispersed,  we  made  our  way  around  to  the  other  end  of  the 
building,  and  had  a  good  shake  of  the  hand  with  Mr.  Moody, 
with  whom  I  had  spent  several  days  at  Mr.  Henry  Bevvley's, 
in  Dublin,  in  1867,  and  then  travelled  with  him  to  London, 
little  dreaming  that  he  would  ever  excite  such  a  commotion 
in  this  great  Babylon,  or  have  such  a  thronging  multitude  to 
hear  him  as  I  have  seen  to-day. 

And  now,  what  of  it  all  ?  It  would  be  presumption  to  give 
an  opinion  on  a  single  service,  and  that  where  the  principal 
actor  in  these  scenes  was  almost  silent.  Certainly  there  are 
some  drawbacks.  For  my  part,  I  had  rather  worship  in  less 
of  a  crowd.  If  there  is  anything  which  I  shrink  from,  it  is 
getting  into  a  crush  from  which  there  is  no  escape,  and  being 
obliged  to  struggle  for  life.  Sometimes,  indeed,  it  may  be  a 
duty,  but  it  is  not  an  agreeable  one.  Paul  fought  with 
beasts  at  Ephesus,  but  I  don't  think  he  liked  it ;  and  it  seems 
to  me  a  pretty  near  approach  to  being  thrown  to  the  lions, 
to  be  caught  in  a  rushing,  roaring  London  crowd. 

And  still  I  must  not  do  it  injustice.  It  was  not  a  mob,  but 
only  a  very  eager  and  excited  concourse  of  people  ;  who,  when 
once  settled  in  the  building,  were  attentive  and  devout. 
Perhaps  the  assembly  to-day  was  more  so  than  usual,  as  the 
invitation  for  this  opening  service  had  been  "  to  Christians," 
and  probably  the  bulk  of  those  present  were  members  of 
neighboring  churches.  They  were,  for  the  most  part,  very 
plain  people,  but  none  the  worse  for  that,  and  they  joined  in 
the  service  with  evident  interest,  singing  heartily  the  hymns, 
and  turning  over  their  Bibles  to  follow  the  references  to  pas- 
sages of  Scripture.  Their  simple  sincerity  and  earnestness 
were  very  touching. 

As  to  Mr.  Moody,  in  the  few  remarks  he  made  I  saw  no 
sign  of  eloquence,  not  a  single  brilliant  flash,  such  as  would 


40  MOODY  AND  SANKEY  IN  LONDON. 

have  lighted  up  a  five  minutes'  talk  of  our  friend  Talmage  ; 
but  there  was  the  impressiveness  of  a  man  who  was  too  much 
in  earnest  to  care  for  flowers  of  rhetoric ;  whose  heart  was  in 
his  work,  and  who,  intent  on  that  alone,  spoke  with  the  ut- 
most simplicity  and  plainness.  I  liear  it  frequently  said 
that  his  power  is  not  in  any  extraordinary  gift  of  speech,  but 
in  organizing  Christian  work.  One  would  suppose  that  this 
long-continued  labor  would  break  him  down,  but  on  the  con- 
trary, he  seems  to  thrive  upon  it,  and  has  grown  stout  and 
burly  as  any  Englishman,  and  seems  ready  for  many  more 
campaigns. 

As  to  the  result  of  his  labors,  instead  of  volunteering  an 
opinion  on  such  slight  observation,  it  is  much  more  to  the 
purpose  to  give  the  judgment  of  others  who  have  had  full 
opportunity  to  see  his  methods,  and  to  observe  the  fruits.  I 
have  conversed  with  men  of  standing  and  influence  in  Dub- 
lin, Belfast,  Glasgow,  and  Edinburgh — men  not  at  all  likely 
to  be  carried  away  by  any  sudden  fanaticism.  All  speak  well 
of  him,  and  believe  that  he  has  done  good  in  their  respective 
cities.  This  certainly  is  very  high  testimony,  and  for  the 
present  is  the  best  we  can  have.  They  say  that  he  shows 
great  tact  in  keeping  clear  of  difficulties,  not  allying  himself 
with  sects  or  parties,  and  awakening  no  prejudices,  so  that 
Baptists,  like  Mr.  Spurgeon,  and  Methodists  and  Indepen- 
dents and  Presbyterians,  all  work  together.  In  Scotland, 
men  of  the  Free  Church  and  of  the  National  Church  joined 
in  the  meetings,  and  one  cannot  but  hope  that  the  tendency 
of  this  general  religious  movement  will  be  to  incline  the 
hearts  of  those  noble,  but  now  divided  brethren,  more  and 
more  towards  each  other. 

What  will  be  the  effect  in  London,  it  is  too  soon  to  say-* 
It  seems  almost  impossible  to  make  any  impression  on  a  city 
which  is  a  world  in  itself.  London  has  nearly  four  millions 
of  inhabitants — more  than  the  six  States  of  New  England  put 
together  1     It  is  the  monstrous  growth  of  our  modern  civili* 


MOODY  AND  SANKEY  IN  LONDON.  41 

zation.  With  its  enormous  size,  it  contains  more  wealth 
than  any  city  in  the  world,  and  more  poverty — more  luxury 
on  the  one  hand,  and  more  misery  on  the  other.  To  those 
who  have  explored  the  low  life  of  London,  the  revelations  are 
terrific.  The  wretchedness,  the  filth,  the  squalor,  the  physi- 
cal pollution  and  moral  degradation  in  which  vast  numbers 
live,  is  absolutely  appalling. 

And  can  such  a  seething  mass  of  humanity  be  reached  by 
any  Christian  influences  ?  That  is  the  problem  to  be  solved. 
It  is  a  gigantic  undertaking.  Whatever  can  make  any  im- 
pression upon  it,  deserves  the  support  of  all  good  men.  I 
hope  fervently  that  the  present  movement  may  leave  a  moral 
result  that  shall  remain  after  the  actors  in  it  have  passed  away. 


42  TWO   SIDES   OF   LONDON. 


CHAPTER  V. 

TWO   SIDES   OP   LONDON. — IS   MODERN   CIVILIZATION  A 

FAILURE  ? 

June  15th. 

It  is  now  "  the  height  of  the  season"  in  London.  Parlia- 
ment is  in  session,  and  "  everybody  "  is  in  town.  Except  the 
Queen,  who  is  in  the  Highlands,  almost  all  the  Royal  family 
are  here ;  and  (except  occasional  absences  on  the  Continent, 
or  as  Ministers  at  foreign  courts,  or  as  Governors  of  India, 
of  Canada,  of  Australia,  and  other  British  colonies)  probably 
almost  the  whole  nobility  of  the  United  Kingdom  are  at  this 
moment  in  London.  Of  course  foreigners  flock  here  in  great 
numbers.  So  crowded  is  every  hotel,  that  it  is  difficult  to 
find  lodgings.  "We  have  found  very  central  quarters  in 
Dover  street,  near  Piccadilly,  close  by  the  clubs  and  the 
parks,  and  the  great  West  End,  the  fashionable  quarter  of 
London. 

Of  course  the  display  from  the  assemblage  of  so  much  rank 
and  wealth,  and  the  concourse  of  such  a  multitude  from  all 
parts  of  the  United  Kingdom,  and  indeed  from  all  parts 
of  the  earth,  is  magnificent.  We  go  often  to  Hyde  Park 
Corner,  to  see  the  turnout  in  the  afternoon.  In  Rotten  Row 
(strange  name  for  the  most  fashionable  riding  ground  in 
Europe)  is  the  array  of  those  on  horseback ;  while  the  drive 
adjoining  is  appropriated  to  carriages.  The  mounted  caval- 
cade makes  a  gallant  sight.  What  splendid  horses,  and  how 
well  these  English  ladies  ride !  Here  come  the  equipages 
of  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  the  Duke  of  Edinburgh,  with 
their  fair  brides  from  northern  capitals,  followed  by  an  end- 
less roll  of  carriages  of  dukes  and  marquises  and  earls,  and 


TWO    SIDES    OF   LONDON.  43 

lords  and  ladies  of  high  degree.  It  seems  as  if  all  the  glory 
of  the  world  were  here.  In  strange  contrast  with  this  pomp 
and  show,  whom  should  we  meet,  as  we  were  riding  in  the 
Park  on  Saturday,  but  Moody  (whom  John  Wanamaker,  of 
Philadelphia,  was  taking  out  for  an  airing  to  prepare  him 
for  the  fatigues  of  the  morrow),  who  doubtless  looked  upon 
all  this  as  a  Vanity  Fair,  much  greater  than  that  which 
Bunyan  has  described ! 

But  not  to  regard  it  in  a  severe  spirit  of  censure,  it  is  a 
sight  such  as  brings  before  us,  in  one  moving  panorama,  the 
rank  and  beauty,  the  wealth  and  power,  of  the  British  Em- 
pire, represented  in  these  lords  of  the  realm.  Such  a  sight 
cannot  be  seen  anywhere  else  in  Europe,  not  in  the  Champs 
Elysees  or  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  of  Paris,  nor  the  Prater  at 
Vienna. 

Take  another  scene.  Let  us  start  after  ten  o'clock  and  ride 
down  into  u  the  city," — a  title  which,  as  used  here,  belongs 
only  to  the  old  part  of  London,  beyond  Temple  Bar,  which 
is  now  given  up  wholly  to  business,  and  where  "  nobody  that 
is  anybody "  lives.  Here  are  the  Bank  of  England,  the 
Koyal  Exchange,  and  the  great  commercial  houses,  that  have 
their  connections  in  all  parts  of  the  earth.  The  concentra- 
tion of  wealth  is  enormous,  represented  by  hundreds  and 
thousands  of  millions  sterling.  One  might  almost  say  that 
half  the  national  debts  of  the  world  are  owned  here.  There 
is  not  a  power  on  the  globe  that  is  seeking  a  loan,  that  does 
not  come  to  London.  France,  Germany,  Russia,  Turkey,  all 
have  recourse  to  its  bankers  to  provide  the  material  of  war, 
or  means  for  the  construction  of  the  great  works  and  monu- 
ments of  peace.  Our  American  railways  have  been  built 
largely  with  English  money.  Alas,  that  so  many  have  proved 
unfortunate  investments  ! 

It  is  probably  quite  within  bounds  to  say  that  the  accumu- 
lation of  wealth  at  this  centre  is  greater  than  ever  was  piled 
up  before  on  the  globe,  even  in  the  days  of  the  Persian  or 


44  TWO    SIDES    OF   LONDON. 

Babylonian  Empires ;  or  when  the  kings  of  Egypt  built  the 
Pyramids ;  or  when  Rome  sat  on  the  seven  hills,  and  subject 
provinces  seDt  tribute  from  all  parts  of  the  earth ;  or  in  that 
Mogul  Empire,  whose  monuments  at  Delhi  and  Agra  are  still 
the  wonder  of  India. 

Can  it  be  that  a  city  so  vast,  so  populous,  so  rich,  has  a 
canker  at  its  root  ?  Do  not  judge  hastily,  but  see  for  your- 
self. Leave  Hyde  Park  Corner,  and  its  procession  of  nobles 
and  princes  ;  leave  "  the  city,"  with  its  banks  and  counting- 
houses,  and  plunge  into  another  quarter  of  London.  One 
need  not  go  far  away,  for  the  hiding-places  of  poverty  and 
wretchedness  are  often  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  palaces 
of  the  rich.  Come,  then,  and  grope  through  these  narrow 
streets.  You  turn  aside  to  avoid  the  ragged,  wretched  crea- 
tures that  crouch  along  your  path.  But  come  on,  and  if  you 
fear  to  go  farther,  take  a  policeman  with  you.  Wind  your 
way  into  narrow  passages,  into  dark,  foul  alleys,  up-stairs, 
story  after  story,  each  worse  than  the  last.  Summon  up 
courage  to  enter  the  rooms.  You  are  staggered  by  the  foul 
smell  that  issues  as  you  open  the  doors.  But  do  not  go  back  ; 
wait  till  your  eye  is  a  little  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  and 
you  can  see  more  clearly.  Here  is  a  room  hardly  big  enough 
for  a  single  bed,  yet  containing  six,  eight,  ten,  or  a  dozen 
persons,  all  living  in  a  common  herd,  cooking  and  eating 
such  wretched  food  as  they  have,  and  sleeping  on  the  floor 
together. 

What  can  be  expected  of  human  beings,  crowded  in  such 
miserable  habitations,  living  in  filth  and  squalor,  and  often 
pinched  with  hunger?  Not  only  is  refinement  impossible, 
but  comfort,  or  even  decency.  What  manly  courage  would 
not  give  way,  sapped  by  the  deadly  poison  of  such  an  air  ? 
Who  wonders  that  so  many  rush  to  the  gin-shop  to  snatch 
a  moment  of  excitement  or  forgetfulness  ?  What  feminine 
delicacy  could  stand  the  foul  and  loathsome  contact  of  such 
brutal  degradation  ?     Yet  this  is  the  way  in  which  tens,  and 


TWO    SIDES    OF   LONDON.  45 

perhaps  hundreds  of  thousands  of  the  population  of  London 
live. 

But  it  is  at  night  that  these  low  quarters  are  most  fearful. 
Then  the  population  turns  into  the  streets,  which  are  bril- 
liantly lighted  up  by  the  flaring  gas-jets.  Then  the  gin-shops 
are  in  their  glory,  crowded  by  the  lowest  and  most  wretched 
specimens  of  humanity — men  and  women  in  rags — old,  gray- 
headed  men  and  haggard  women,  and  young  girls, — and  even 
children,  learning  to  be  imps  of  wickedness  almost  as  soon 
as  they  are  born.  After  a  few  hours  of  this  excitement  they 
reel  home  to  their  miserable  dens.  And  then  each  wretched 
room  becomes  more  hideous  than  before, — for  drinking  begets 
quarrelling;  and,  cursing  and  swearing  and  fighting,  the 
wretched  creatures  at  last  sink  exhausted  on  the  floor,  to 
forget  their  misery  in  a  few  hours  of  troubled  sleep. 

Such  is  a  true,  but  most  inadequate,  picture  of  one  side  of 
London.  Who  that  sees  it,  or  even  reads  of  it,  can  wonder 
that  so  many  of  these  "victims  of  civilization,"  finding 
human  hearts  harder  than  the  stones  of  the  street,  seek  re- 
fuge in  suicide  ?  I  never  cross  London  Bridge  without  recall- 
ing Hood's  "Bridge  of  Sighs,"  and  stopping  to  lean  over 
the  parapet,  thinking  of  the  tragedies  which  those  "  dark 
arches  "  have  ■  witnessed,  as  poor,  miserable  creatures,  mad 
with  suffering,  have  rushed  here  and  thrown  themselves  over 
into  "  the  black-flowing  river  "  *  beneath,  eager  to  escape 
M  Anywhere,  anywhere, 
Out  of  the  world ! " 

*  "  The  bleak  wind  of  March 

Made  her  tremble  and  shiver, 
But  not  the  dark  arch, 

Nor  the  black  flowing  river. 
Mad  from  life's  history, 
Glad  to  death's  mystery 

Swift  to  be  hurled 
Anywhere,  anywhere, 
Out  of  the  world  !  n 


46  TWO   SIDES    OF   LONDON. 

Such  is  the  dreadful  cancer  which  is  eating  at  the  heart  of 
London — poverty  and  misery,  ending  in  vice  and  crime,  in 
despair  and  death.  It  is  a  fearful  spectacle.  But  is  there 
any  help  for  it  ?  Can  anything  be  done  to  relieve  this  gigan- 
tic human  misery?  Or  is  the  case  desperate,  beyond  all 
hope  or  remedy  ? 

Of  course  there  are  many  schemes  of  reformation  and  cure. 
Some  think  it  must  come  by  political  instrumentality,  by 
changes  in  the  laws  ;  others  have  no  hope  but  in  a  social  re- 
generation, or  reconstruction  of  society  ;  others  still  rely  only 
on  moral  and  religious  influences. 

There  has  arisen  in  Europe,  within  the  last  generation,  a 
multitude  of  philosophers  who  have  dreamed  that  it  was 
possible  so  to  reorganize  or  reconstruct  society,  to  adjust  the 
relations  of  labor  and  capital,  as  to  extinguish  poverty ;  so 
that  there  shall  be  no  more  poor,  no  more  want.  Sickness 
there  may  be,  disease,  accident,  and  pain,  but  the  amount  of 
suffering  will  be  reduced  to  a  minimum ;  so  that  at  least  there 
shall  be  no  unnecessary  pain,  none  which  it  is  possible  for 
human  skill  or  science  to  relieve.  Elaborate  works  have 
been  written,  in  which  the  machinery  is  carefully  adjusted, 
and  the  wheels  so  oiled  that  there  is  no  jar  or  friction.  These 
schemes  are  very  beautiful ;  alas  !  that  they  should  be  mere 
creations  of  the  fancy.  The  apparatus  is  too  complicated  and 
too  delicate,  and  generally  breaks  to  pieces  in  the  ver}r  setting 
up.  The  fault  of  all  these  social  philosophies  is  that  they 
ignore  the  natural  selfishness  of  man,  his  pride,  avarice,  and 
ambition.  Every  man  wants  the  first  place  in  the  scale  of 
eminence.  If  men  were  morally  right — if  they  had  Christian 
humility  or  self-abnegation,  and  each  were  willing  to  take 
the  lowest  place — then  indeed  might  these  things  be.  But 
until  then,  we  fear  that  all  such  schemes  will  be  splendid 
failures. 

In  France,  where  they  have  been  most  carefully  elaborated, 
and  in  some  instances  tried,  they  have  always  resulted  disas* 


TWO    SIDES    OF   LONDON.  47 

trously,  sometimes  ending  in  horrible  scenes  of  blood,  as  in 
the  Reign  of  Terror  in  the  first  Revolution,  and  recently  in 
the  massacres  of  the  Commune.  No  government  on  earth 
can  reconstruct  society,  so  as  to  prevent  all  poverty  and  suf- 
fering. Still  the  State  can  do  much  by  removing  obstacles 
out  of  the  way.  It  need  not  be  itself  the  agent  of  oppres- 
sion, and  of  inflicting  needless  sufl'ering.  This  has  been  the 
vice  of  many  governments — that  they  have  kept  down  the 
poor  by  laying  on  them  burdens  too  heavy  to  bear,  and  so 
crushing  the  life  out  of  their  exhausted  frames.  In  England 
the  State  can  remove  disabilities  from  the  working  man  ;  it 
can  take  away  the  exclusive  privileges  of  rank  and  title,  and 
place  all  classes  on  the  same  level  before  the  law.  Thus  it 
can  clear  the  field  before  every  man,  and  give  him  a  chance 
to  rise,  if  he  has  it  in  him — if  he  has  talent,  energy,  and  per- 
severance. 

Then  the  government  can  in  many  ways  encourage  the 
poorer  classes,  and  so  gradually  lift  them  up.  In  great 
cities  the  drainage  of  unhealthy  streets,  of  foul  quarters, 
may  remove  the  seeds  of  pestilence.  Something  in  this  way 
has  been  done  already,  and  the  death  rates  show  a  corre- 
sponding diminution  of  mortality.  So  by  stringent  laws  in 
regard  to  proper  ventilation,  forbidding  the  crowding  together 
in  unhealthy  tenements,  and  promoting  the  erection  of  model 
lodging-houses,  it  may  encourage  that  cleanliness  and  decency 
which  is  the  first  step  towards  civilization. 

Then  by  a  system  of  Common  Schools,  that  shall  be  univer- 
sal and  compulsory,  and  be  rigidly  enforced,  as  it  is  in  Ger- 
many, the  State  may  educate  in  some  degree,  at  least  in  the 
rudiments  of  knowledge,  the  children  of  the  nation,  and  thus 
do  something  towards  lifting  up,  slowly  but  steadily,  that 
vast  substratum  of  population  which  lies  at  the  base  of  every 
European  society. 

But  the  question  of  moral  influence  remains.  Is  it  pos- 
sible to  reach  this   vast  and  degraded  population  with  any 


48  TWO    SIDES    OF    LONDON. 

Christian  influences,  or  are  they  in  a  state  of  hopeless  degra- 
dation ? 

Here  we  meet  at  the  first  step  in  England  A  church, 
of  grand  proportions,  established  for  ages,  inheriting  vast 
endowments,  wealth,  privilege,  and  titles,  with  all  the  means 
of  exerting  the  utmost  influence  on  the  national  mind.  For 
this  what  has  it  to  show?  It  has  great  cathedrals,  with 
bishops,  and  deans,  and  canons ;  a  whole  retinue  of  beneficed 
clergy,  men  who  read  or  "  intone  "  the  prayers  ;  with  such 
hosts  of  men  and  boys  to  chant  the  services,  as,  if  mustered 
together,  would  make  a  small  army.  The  machinery  is  ample, 
but  the  result,  we  fear,  not  at  all  corresponding. 

But  lest  I  be  misunderstood,  let  me  say  here  that  I  have 
no  prejudice  against  the  Church  of  England.  I  cannot  join 
with  the  English  Dissenters  in  their  cry  against  it,  nor  with 
some  of  my  American  brethren,  who  look  upon  it  as  almost 
an  apostate  Church,  an  obstacle  to  the  progress  of  Chris- 
tianity, rather  than  a  wall  set  around  it  to  be  its  bulwark  and 
defence.  With  a  very  different  feeling  do  I  regard  that 
ancient  Church,  that  has  so  long  had  its  throne  in  the 
British  Islands.  I  am  not  an  Englishman,  nor  an  Episcopa- 
lian, yet  no  loyal  son  of  the  Church  of  England  could  look  up 
to  it  with  more  tender  reverence  than  I.  I  honor  it  for  all  that 
it  has  been  in  the  past,  for  all  that  it  is  at  this  hour.  The 
oldest  of  the  Protestant  Churches  of  England,  it  has  the 
dignity  of  history  to  make  it  venerable.  And  not  only  is  it 
one  of  the  oldest  Churches  in  the  world,  but  one  of  the 
purest,  which  could  not  be  struck  from  existence  without  a 
shock  to  all  Christendom.  Its  faith  is  the  faith  of  the  Refor- 
mation, the  faith  of  the  early  ages  of  Christianity.  What- 
ever "corruptions"  may  have  gathered  upon  it,  like  moss 
upon  the  old  cathedral  walls,  yet  in  the  Apostles'  Creed, 
and  other  symbols  of  faith,  it  has  held  the  primitive  belief 
with  beautiful  simplicity,  divested  of  all  "  philosophy,"  ami 


TWO    SIDES    OF   LONDON.  49 

held  it  not  only  with  singular  purity,  but  with  steadfastness 
from  generation  to  generation. 

What  a  power  is  in  a  creed  and  a  service  which  thus  links 
us  with  the  past  !  As  we  listen  to  the  Te  Deum  or  the 
Litany,  we  are  carried  back  not  only  to  the  Middle  Ages,  but 
to  the  days  of  persecution,  when  "  the  noble  army  of  mar- 
tyrs "  was  not  a  name ;  when  the  Church  worshipped  in 
crypts  and  catacombs.  Perhaps  we  of  other  communions  do 
not  consider  enough  the  influence  of  a  Church  which  has  a 
long  history,  and  whose  very  service  seems  to  unite  the  living 
and  the  dead — the  worship  on  earth  with  the  worship  in 
heaven.  For  my  part,  I  am  very  sensitive  to  these  in- 
fluences, and  never  do  I  hear  a  choir  "  chanting  the  liturgies 
of  remote  generations  "  that  it  does  not'  bring  me  nearer  to 
the  first  worshippers,  and  to  Him  whom  they  worshipped. 

Nor  can  I  overlook,  among  the  influences  of  the  Church  of 
England,  that  even  of  its  architecture,  in  which  its  history,  as 
well  as  its  worship,  is  enshrined.  Its  cathedrals  are  filled 
with  monuments  and  tombs,  which  recall  great  names  and 
sacred  memories.  Is  it  mere  imagination,  that  when  I  enter 
one  of  these  old  piles  and  sit  in  some  quiet  alcove,  the  place 
is  filled  to  my  ear  with  airy  tongues,  voices  of  the  dead,  that 
come  from  the  tablets  around  and  from  the  tombs  beneath ; 
that  whisper  along  the  aisles,  and  rise  and  float  away  in  the 
arches  above,  bearing  the  soul  to  heaven — spirits  with  which 
my  own  poor  heart,  as  I  sit  and  pray,  seems  in  peaceful  and 
blessed  communion  ?  Is  it  an  idle  fancy  that  soaring  above 
us  there  is  a  multitude  of  the  heavenly  host  singing  now,  as 
once  over  the  plains  of  Bethlehem,  u  Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest,  peace  on  earth,  good  will  towards  men  !  "  Here  is 
the  soul  bowed  down  in  the  presence  of  its  Maker.  It  feels 
u  lowly  as  a  worm."  What  thoughts  of  death  arise  amid  so 
many  memorials  of  the  dead  !  What  sober  views  of  the  true 
end  of  a  life  so  swiftly  passing  away!  How  many  better 
thoughts  are  inspired  by  the  meditations  of  this  holy  place  ! 


50  TWO    SIDES    OF    LONDON. 

How  many  prayers,  uttered  in  silence,  are  wafted  to  the 
Hearer  of  Prayer  !  How  many  offences  ace  forgiven  here  in 
the  presence  of  "  The  Great  Forgiver  of  the  world  "  !  How 
many  go  forth  from  this  ancient  portal,  resolved,  with  God's 
help,  to  live  better  lives  !  It  is  idle  to  deny  that  the  place 
itself  is  favorable  to  meditation  and  to  prayer.  It  makes  a 
solemn  stillness  in  the  midst  of  a  great  city,  as  if  we  were  in 
the  solitude  of  a  mountain  or  a  desert.  The  pillared  arches 
are  like  the  arches  of  a  sacred  grove.  Let  those  who  will  cast 
away  such  aids  to  devotion,  and  say  they  can  worship  God 
anywhere — in  any  place.  I  am  not  so  insensible  to  these 
surroundings,  but  find  in  them  much  to  lift  up  my  heart  and 
to  help  my  poor  prayers. 

With  these  internal  elements  of  power,  and  with  its  age 
and  history,  and  the  influence  of  custom  and  tradition,  the 
Church  of  England  has  held  the  nation  for  hundreds  of  years 
to  an  outward  respect  for  Christianity,  even  if  not  always  to 
a  living  faith.  While  Germany  has  fallen  away  to  Rational- 
ism and  indifference,  and  France  to  mocking  and  scornful 
infidelity,  in  England  Christianity  is  a  national  institution, 
as  fast  anchored  as  the  island  itself.  The  Church  of  England 
is  the  strongest  bulwark  against  the  infidelity  of  the  conti- 
nent. It  is  associated  in  the  national  mind  with  all  that  is 
sacred  and  venerable  in  the  past.  In  its  creed  and  its  wor- 
ship it  presents  the  Christian  religion  in  a  way  to  command 
the  respect  of  the  educated  classes ;  it  is  seated  in  the  Uni- 
versities, and  is  thus  associated  with  science  and  learning. 
As  it  is  the  National  Church,  it  has  the  support  of  all  the 
rank  of  the  kingdom,  and  arrays  on  its  side  the  strongest 
social  influences.  Thus  it  sets  even  fashion  on  the  side  of 
religion.  This  may  not  be  the  most  dignified  influence  to 
control  the  faith  of  a  country,  bat  it  is  one  that  has  great 
power,  and  it  is  certainly  better  to  have  it  on  the  side  of 
religion  than  against  it.  We  must  take  the  world  as  it  is, 
and  men  as  they  are.     They  are  led  by  example,  and  espe- 


TWO    SIDES    OF    LONDON.  51 

eially  by  the  examples  of  the  great ;  of  those  whose  rank 
makes  them  foremost  in  the  public  eye,  and  gives  them  a 
natural  influence  over  their  countrymen. 

As  for  those  who  think  that  the  Gospel  is  preached 
nowhere  in  England  but  in  the  chapels  of  Dissenters,  and 
that  there  is  little  fi  spirituality  "  except  among  English  In- 
dependents or  Scotch  Presbyterians,  we  can  but  pity  their 
ignorance.  It  is  not  necessary  to  point  to  the  saintly  exam- 
ples of  men  like  Jeremy  Taylor  and  Archbishop  Leighton , 
but  in  the  English  homes  of  to-day  are  thousands  of  men  and 
women  who  furnish  illustrations,  as  beautiful  as  any  that  can 
be  found  on  earth,  of  a  religion  without  cant  or  affectation, 
yet  simple  and  sincere,  and  showing  itself  at  once  in  private 
devotion,  in  domestic  piety,  and  in  a  life  full  of  all  goodness 
and  charity. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  its  ministers  are  not  always 
worthy  of  the  Church  itself.  I  am  repelled  and  disgusted  at 
the  arrogance  of  some  who  think  that  it  is  the  only  true 
Church,  and  that  they  alone  are  the  Lord's  anointed.  If  so, 
the  grace  is  indeed  in  earthen  vessels,  and  those  of  wretched 
clay.  The  affectation  and  pretension  of  some  of  the  more 
youthful  clergy  are  such  as  to  provoke  a  smile.  But  such 
paltry  creatures  are  too  insignificant  to  be  worth  a  moment's 
serious  thought.  The  same  spiritual  conceit  exists  in  every 
Church.  We  should  not  like  to  be  held  responsible  for  all 
the  narrowness  of  Presbyterians,  whom  we  are  sometimes 
obliged  to  regard,  as  Cromwell  did,  as  "  the  Lord's  foolish 
people."  These  small  English  curates  and  rectors  we  should 
regard  no  more  than  the  spiders  that  weave  their  web  in  some 
dimly-lighted  arch,  or  the  traditional  "  church  mice  "  that 
nibble  their  crumbs  in  the  cathedral  tower,  or  the  crickets  or 
lizards  that  creep  over  the  old  tombs  in  the  neighboring 
churchyard. 

But  if  there  is  much  narrowness  in  the  Church  of  England, 
there  is  much  nobleness  also ;   much  true  Christian  liberality 


52  TWO    SIDES    OF    LONDON. 

and  hearty  sympathy  with  all  good  men  and  good  move- 
ments, not  only  in  England  but  throughout  the  world. 
Dean  Stanley  (whom  I  love  and  honor  as  the  manliest  man  in 
the  Church  of  England)  is  but  the  representative  and  leader 
of  hundreds  who,  if  they  have  not  his  genius,  have  at  least 
much  of  his  generous  and  intrepid  spirit,  that  despises  sacer- 
dotal cant,  and  claims  kindred  with  the  good  of  all  countries 
and  ages,  with  the  noble  spirits,  the  brave  and  true,  of  all 
mankind.  Such  men  are  sufficient  to  redeem  the  great  Church 
to  which  they  belong  from  the  reproach  of  narrowness. 

Such  is  the  position  of  the  Church  of  England,  whose  his- 
tory is  a  part  of  that  of  the  realm  ;  and  which  stands  to-day 
buttressed  by  rank,  and  learning,  and  social  position,  and  a 
thousand  associations  which  have  clustered  around  it  in  the 
course  of  centuries,  to  make  it  sacred  and  venerable  and 
dear  to  the  nation's  heart.  If  all  this  were  levelled  with 
the  ground,  in  vain  would  all  the  eiforts  of  Dissenters,  how- 
ever  earnest  and  eloquent — if  they  could  muster  a  hundred 
Spurgeons — avail  to  restore  the  national  respect  for  religion. 

Looking  at  all  these  possibilities,  I  am  by  no  means  so  cer- 
tain as  some  appear  to  be,  that  the  overthrow  of  the  Estab- 
lishment would  be  a  gain  to  the  cause  of  Christianity  in 
England.  Some  in  their  zeal  for  a  pure  democracy  both  in 
Church  and  State — for  Independency  and  Voluntaryism  in 
the  former,  and  Republicanism  in  the  latter — regard  every 
Establishment  as  an  enemy  alike  to  a  pure  Gospel  and  to  reli- 
gious liberty.  The  Dissenters,  naturally  incensed  at  the  in- 
equality and  injustice  of  their  position  before  the  law  (and 
perhaps  with  a  touch  of  envy  of  those  more  favored  than  they 
are)  have  their  grievance  against  the  Church  of  England, 
simply  because  it  is  established,  to  the  exclusion  of  themselves. 
But  from  all  such  rivalries  and  contentions  we,  as  Ameri- 
cans, are  far  removed,  and  can  judge  impartially.  We  look 
upon  the  Established  Church  as  one  of  the  historical  institu- 
tions of  England,  which  no  thoughtful  person  could  wish  to 


TWO    SIDES    OF    LONDON.  53 

see  destroyed,  any  more  than  to  see  an  overthrow  of  the  mon- 
archy, until  he  were  quite  sure  that  something  better  would 
come  in  its  place.  It  is  not  a  little  thing  that  it  has  gathered 
around  it  such  a  wealth  of  associations,  and  with  them  such 
a  power  over  the  nation  in  which  it  stands ;  and  it  would  be 
a  rash  hand  that  should  apply  the  torch,  or  fire  the  mine,  that 
should  bring  it  down. 

But  the  influence  of  the  Church  of  England  is  mainly  in 
the  higher  ranks  of  society.  Below  these  there  are  largo 
social  strata — deep,  broad,  thick,  and  black  as  seams  of  coal 
in  a  mountain — that  are  not  even  touched  by  all  these  influ- 
ences. We  like  to  stray  into  the  old  cathedrals  at  evening, 
and  hear  the  choir  chanting  vespers ;  or  to  wander  about 
them  at  night,  and  see  the  moonlight  falling  on  the  ancient 
towers.  But  nations  are  not  saved  by  moonlight  and  music. 
The  moonbeams  that  rest  on  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  or 
on  the  bosom  of  the  Thames,  as  it  flows  under  the  arches  of 
London  Bridge,  covering  it  with  silver,  do  not  cleanse  the 
black  waters,  or  restore  to  life  the  corpses  of  the  wretched 
suicides  that  go  floating  downward  to  the  sea.  So  far  as 
tliey  are  concerned,  the  Church  of  England,  and  indeed  we 
may  say  the  Christianity  of  England,  is  a  wretched  failure. 
Some  other  and  more  powerful  illustration  is  needed  to  turn 
the  heart  of  England ;  something  which  shall  not  only  cause 
the  sign  of  the  cross  to  be  held  up  in  St.  Paul's  aud  West- 
minster Abbey,  but  which  shall  carry  the  Gospel  of  human 
brotherhood  to  all  the  villages  and  hamlets  of  England  ;  to 
the  poorest  cottage  in  the  Highlands;  that  shall  descend 
with  the  miner  into  the  pit  underground  ;  that  shall  abide 
with  every  laborer  in  the  land,  and  go  forth  with  the  sailor 
on  the  sea. 

How  inadequately  the  Church  of  England  answers  to  this 
need  of  a  popular  educator  and  reformer,  may  be  illustrated 
by  one  or  two  of  her  most  notable  churches  and  preachers. 

On  Sunday  last  we  attended  two  of  the  most  famous  places 


54  TWO   SIDES   OF   LONDON. 

of  worship  in  London — the  Temple  Church  and  Westminster 
Abbey.  The  former  belongs  to  an  ancient  guild  of  lawyers, 
attached  to  what  are  known  as  the  Middle  and  the  Inner 
Temple,  a  corporation  dating  back  hundreds  of  years,  which 
has  large  grounds  running  down  to  the  Thames,  and  great  piles 
of  buildings  divided  off  into  courts,  and  full  of  lawyers1  offices. 
Standing  among  these  is  a  church  celebrated  for  its  beauty, 
which  once  belonged  to  the  Knights  Templars,  some  of  whose 
bronze  figures  in  armor,  lying  on  their  tombs,  show  by  their 
crossed  limbs  how  they  went  to  Palestine  to  fight  for  the 
Holy  Sepulchre.  As  it  is  a  church  which  belongs  to  a  pri- 
vate corporation,  no  one  can  obtain  admission  to  the  pews 
without  an  order  from  "  a  bencher,"  which  was  sent  to  us  as 
a  personal  courtesy.  The  church  has  the  air  of  being  very 
aristocratic  and  exclusive ;  and  those  whose  enjoyment  of  a 
religious  service  depends  on  "  worshipping  God  in  good  com- 
pany," may  feel  at  ease  while  sitting  in  these  high-backed 
pews,  from  which  the  public  are  excluded. 

The  church  is  noted  for  its  music,  which  amateurs  pro- 
nounce exquisite.  As  I  am  not  educated  in  these  things,  I  do 
not  know  the  precise  beauty  and  force  of  all  the  quips  and 
quavers  of  this  most  artistic  performance.  The  service  was 
given  at  full  length,  in  which  the  Lord's  Prayer  was  repeated 
five  times.  With  all  the  singing  and  "intoning,"  and  down- 
sitting  and  uprising,  and  the  bowing  of  necks  and  bending 
of  knees,  the  service  occupied  an  hour  and  a  half  before  the 
rector,  Rev.  Dr.  Vaughan,  ascended  the  pulpit.  He  is  a 
brother-in-law  of  Dean  Stanley,  and  a  man  much  respected 
in  the  Church.  His  text  was,  "  He  took  our  infirmities,  and 
bare  our  sicknesses,"  from  which  he  preached  a  sermon  ap- 
propriate to  the  day,  which  was  "  Hospital  Sunday,"  a  day 
observed  throughout  London  by  collections  in  aid  of  the 
hospitals.  It  was  simple  and  practical,  and  gave  one  the 
impression  of  a  truly  good  man,  such  as  there  are  thousands 
in  the  Church  of  England. 


TWO    SIDES    OF   LONDON.  55 

But  what  effect  had  such  a  service — or  a  hundred  such — ■ 
— on  the  poor  population  of  London  ?  About  as  much  as 
the  exquisite  music  itself  has  on  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  tide 
in  the  Thames,  which  flows  by  ;  or  as  the  moonlight  has  on 
vegetation.  I  know  not  what  mission  agencies  these  old 
churches  may  employ  elsewhere  to  labor  among  the  poor, 
but  so  far  as  any  immediate  influence  is  concerned,  outside 
of  a  very  small  circle,  it  is  infinitesimal. 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  Westminster  Abbey  to  hear  the 
choral  service,  which  is  rendered  by  a  very  large  choir  of 
men  and  boys,  with  wonderful  effect.  Simj)ly  for  the  music 
one  could  not  have  a  more  exquisite  sensation  of  enjoyment. 
How  the  voices  rang  amid  the  arches  of  the  old  cathedral. 
At  this  evening  service  it  had  been  announced  that  "The 
Lord  Archbishop  of  York"  was  to  preach,  and  we  were 
curious  to  see  what  wisdom  and  eloquence  could  come  out  of 
the  mouth  of  a  man  who  held  the  second  place  in  the  Estab- 
lished Church  of  England.  "  His  grace  "  is  a  large,  portly 
man,  of  good  presence  and  sonorous  voice.  His  text  was 
"  Behold,  I  stand  at  the  door  and  knock."  He  began  with 
an  allusion  to  Holman  Hunt's  famous  picture  of  Christ  stand- 
ing at  the  door,  which  he  described  in  some  detail ;  the  door 
itself  overgrown  with  vines,  and  its  hinges  rusted,  so  long 
had  it  been  unopened  ;  and  then  the  patient  Man  of  Sorrows, 
with  bended  head  and  heavy  heart,  knocking  and  waiting  to 
come  in.  From  this  he  went  into  a  discussion  of  modern 
civilization,  considering  whether  men  are  really  better  (though 
they  may  be  better  off)  now  than  in  the  days  of  our  fathers ;  the 
conclusion  from  all  which  was,  that  external  improvements, 
however  much  they  add  to  the  physical  comfort  and  well- 
being  of  man,  do  not  change  his  character,  and  that  for  his 
inward  peace,  the  only  way  is  to  open  the  door  to  let  the 
blessed  Master  in.  It  seemed  to  me  rather  a  roundabout  way 
to  come  at  his  point ;  but  still  as  the  aim  was  practical,  and  the 
spirit  earnest  and  devout,  one  could  not  but  feel  that  the  ini- 


56  TWO    SIDES    OF   LONDON. 

pression  was  good.  As  to  ability,  I  failed  to  see  in  it  any- 
thing so  marked  as  should  entitle  the  preacher  to  the  exalted 
dignity  he  holds ;  but  I  do  not  wish  to  criticize,  but  only 
to  consider  whether  a  Church  thus  organized  and  appointed 
can  have  the  influence  over  the  people  of  England  we  might 
expect  from  a  great  National  Establishment.  Perhaps  it 
has,  but  I  fail  to  see  it.  It  seems  to  skim,  and  that  very 
lightly,  over  the  top,  the  thin  surface  of  society,  and  not  to 
touch  the  masses  beneath. 

The  influence  of  the  Establishment  is  supplemented  by  the 
Dissenting  Churches,  which  are  numerous  and  active,  and  in 
their  spheres  doing  great  good.  Then,  too,  there  are  innu- 
merable separate  agencies,  working  in  ways  manifold  and 
diverse.  I  have  been  much  interested  in  the  details,  as  given 
me  by  Mrs.  Ranyard,  of  her  Bible  women,  who  have  grown, 
in  the  course  of  twenty  years,  from  half  a  dozen  to  over  two 
hundred,  and  who,  working  noiselessly,  in  quiet,  womanly 
ways,  do  much  to  penetrate  the  darkest  lanes  of  London,  and 
to  lead  their  poor  sisters  into  ways  of  industry,  contentment, 
and  peace. 

But  after  all  is  said  and  done,  the  great  mass  of  poverty 
and  wretchedness  remains.  We  lift  the  cover,  and  look  down 
into  unfathomable  abysses  beneath,  into  a  world  where  all 
seems  evil — a  hell  of  furious  passions  and  vices  and  crimes. 
Such  is  the  picture  which  is  presented  to  me  as  I  walk  the 
streets  of  London,  and  which  will  not  down,  even  when  I  go 
to  the  Bank  of  England,  and  see  the  treasures  piled  up  there, 
or  to  Hyde  Park,  and  see  the  dashing  equipages,  the  splendid 
horses  and  their  riders,  and  all  the  display  of  the  rank  and 
beauty  of  England. 

What  will  the  end  be  ?  Will  things  go  on  from  bad  to 
worse,  to  end  at  last  in  some  grand  social  or  political  convul- 
sion— some  cataclysm  like  the  French  Revolution  ? 

This  is  the  question  which  now  occupies  thousands  of  minds 
in  Great  Britain.     Of  course  similar  questions  engage  atten- 


rWO    SIDES   OF    LONDON.  57 

tion  in  other  countries.  In  all  great  cities  there  is  a  poor 
population,  which  is  the  standing  trouble  and  perplexity  of 
social  and  political  reformers.  We  have  a  great  deal  of  pov- 
erty in  New  York,  although  it  is  chiefly  imported  from 
abroad.  But  in  London  the  evil  is  immensely  greater,  be- 
cause the  city  is  four  times  larger  ;  and  the  crowding  together 
of  four  millions  of  people,  brings  wealth  and  poverty  into 
such  close  contact  that  the  contrasts  are  more  marked. 
Other  evils  and  dangers  England  has  which  are  peculiar  to  an 
old  country  ;  they  are  the  growth  of  centuries,  and  cannot  be 
shaken  off,  or  cast  out,  without  great  tearing  and  rending  of  the 
body  politic.  All  this  awakens  anxious  thought,  and  some- 
times dark  foreboding.  Many,  no  doubt,  of  the  upper  classes 
are  quite  content  to  have  their  full  share  of  the  good  things  of 
this  life,  and  enjoy  while  they  may,  saving,  "  After  us  the 
deluge ! "  But  they  are  not  all  given  over  to  selfishness. 
Tens  of  thousands  of  the  best  men  on  this  earth,  having  the 
clearest  heads  and  noblest  hearts,  are  in  England,  and  they 
are  just  as  thoughtful  and  anxious  to  do  what  is  best  for  the 
masses  around  them,  as  any  men  can  be.  The  only  question 
is,  What  can  be  done  ?  And  here  we  confess  our  philosophy 
is  wholly  at  fault.  It  is  easy  to  judge  harshly  of  others,  but 
not  so  easy  to  stand  in  their  places  and  do  better. 

For  my  part,  I  am  most  anxious  that  the  experiment  of 
Christian  civilization  in  England  should  not  fail ;  for  on  it, 
I  believe,  the  welfare  of  the  whole  world  greatly  depends. 
But  is  it  strange  that  good  men  should  be  appalled  and  stand 
aghast  at  what  they  see  here  in  London,  and  that  they  should 
sometimes  bo  in  despair  of  modern  civilization  and  modern 
Christianity  ?  What  can  I  think,  as  a  foreigner,  when  a  man 
like  George  Macdonald,  a  true-hearted  Scotchman,  who  has 
lived  many  years  in  London,  tells  me  that  things  may  come 
ridit  (so  he  hopes)  in  a  thousand  years — that  is,  in  some  .future 
too  remote  for  the  vision  of  man  to  explore.  Hearing  such 
sad  confessions,  I  no  longer  wonder  that  so  many  in  England, 


58  TWO    SIDES    OF    LONDON. 

who  are  sensitive  to  all  this  misery,  and  yet  believers  in  a 
Higher  Power,  have  turned  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Personal 
Reign  of  Christ  on  earth  as  the  only  refuge  against  despair, 
believing  that  the  world  will  be  restored  to  its  allegiance  to 
God,  and  men  to  universal  brotherhood,  only  with  the  coming 
of  the  Prince  of  Peace. 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  FRANCE.  59 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  RESURRECTION   OF   FRANCE. 

Paris,  June  30th. 

Coming  from  London  to  Paris,  one  is  struck  with  the  con- 
trast— London  is  so  vast  and  interminable,  and  dark, — a 
"  boundless  contiguity  of  shade," — while  Paris  is  all  bright- 
ness and  sunshine.  The  difference  in  the  appearance  of  the 
two  capitals  is  due  partly  to  the  climate,  and  partly  to  the 
materials  of  which  they  are  built — London  showing  miles 
on  miles  of  dingy  brick,  with  an  atmosphere  so  charged  with 
smoke  and  vapors  that  it  blackens  even  the  whitest  marble  ; 
while  Paris  is  built  of  a  light,  cream-colored  stone,  that  is 
found  here  in  abundance,  which  is  soft  and  easily  worked,  but 
hardens  by  exposure  to  the  air,  and  that  preserves  its  white- 
ness under  this  clearer  sky  and  warmer  sun.  Then  the  taste 
of  the  French  makes  every  shop  window  bright  with  color ; 
and  there  is  something  in  the  natural  gayety  of  the  people 
which  is  infectious,  and  which  quickly  communicates  itself  to 
a  stranger.  Many  a  foreigner,  on  first  landing  in  England, 
has  walked  the  streets  of  London  with  gloomy  thoughts  of 
suicide,  who  once  in  Paris  feels  as  if  transported  to  Paradise. 
Perhaps  if  he  had  stayed  a  little  longer  in  England  he  would 
have  thought  better  of  the  country  and  people.  But  it  is  impos- 
sible for  a  stranger  at  first  to  feel  at  home  in  London,  anymore 
than  if  he  were  sent  adrift  all  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  At- 
lantic Ocean.  The  English  are  reserved  and  cautious  in  their 
social  relations,  which  may  be  very  proper  in  regard  to  those 
of  whom  they  know  nothing.     But  once  well  introduced,  the 


CO  THE  RESURRECTION  OF  FRANCE. 

stronger  is  taken  into  their  intimacy,  and  finds  no  spot  on 
earth  more  warm  than  the  interior  of  an  English  home. 
But  in  Paris  everybody  seems  to  greet  him  at  once  without 
an  introduction ;  he  speaks  to  a  Frenchman  on  the  street  (if 
it  be  only  to  inquire  his  way),  and  instead  of  a  gruff  answer, 
meets  with  a  polite  reply.  "  It  amounts  to  nothing,"  some 
may  say.  It  costs  indeed  but  a  moment  of  time,  but  even 
that,  many  in  England,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  in  America 
also,  are  too  impatient  and  too  self-absorbed  to  give.  In  the 
shops  everybody  is  so  polite  that  one  spends  his  money  with 
pleasure,  since  he  gets  not  only  the  matter  of  his  purchase, 
bub  what  he  values  still  more,  a  smile  and  a  pleasant  word. 
It  may  be  said  that  these  are  little  things,  but  in  their  influ- 
ence upon  one's  temper  and  spirits  they  are  not  trifles,  any 
more  than  sunshine  is  a  trifle,  or  pure  air;  and  in  these 
minor  moralities  of  life  the  French  are  an  example  to  us  and 
to  all  the  world. 

But  it  is  not  only  for  their  easy  manners  and  social  virtues 
that  I  am  attracted  to  the  French.  They  have  many  noble 
qualities,  such  as  courage  and  self-devotion,  instances  of  which 
are  conspicuous  in  their  national  history ;  and  are  not  less 
capable  of  Christian  devotion,  innumerable  examples  of  which 
may  be  found  in  both  the  Catholic  and  the  Protestant 
Churches.  Many  of  our  American  clergymen,  who  have  travel- 
led abroad,  will  agree  with  me,  that  more  beautiful  examples 
of  piety  they  have  never  seen  than  among  the  Protestants  of 
France.  I  should  be  ungrateful  indeed  if  I  did  not  love  the 
French,  since  to  one  of  that  nation  I  owe  the  chief  happiness 
of  my  earthly  existence. 

Of  course  the  great  marvel  of  Paris,  and  of  France,  is  it? 
resurrection — the  manner  in  which  it  has  recovered  from  the 
'  war.  In  riding  about  these  streets,  so  full  of  life  and  gayety, 
and  seeing  on  every  side  the  signs  of  prosperity,  I  cannot 
realize  that  it  is  a  city  which,  since  I  was  herein  1867 — nay, 
within  less  time,  has  endured  all  the  horrors  of  war ;  whicb 


THE  RESURRECTION  OP  FRANCE.  61 

has  been  twice  besieged,  has  been  encompassed  with  a  mighty 
army,  and  heard  the  sound  of  cannon  day  and  night,  its  peo- 
ple hiding  in  cellars  from  the  bombs  bursting  in  the  streets. 
Yet  it  is  not  five  years  since  Louis  Napoleon  was  still  Empe- 
ror, reigning  undisturbed  in  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries,  across 
the  street  from  the  Hotel  du  Louvre,  where  I  now  write. 
It  was  on  the  15th  of  July,  1870,  that  war  was  declared 
against  Prussia  in  the  midst  of  the  greatest  enthusiasm.  The 
army  was  wild  with  excitement,  expecting  to  march  almost 
unopposed  to  Berlin.  Sad  dream  of  victory,  soon  to  be  rudely 
dispelled  !  A  few  weeks  saw  the  most  astounding  series  of 
defeats,  and  on  the  4th  of  September  the  Emperor  himself 
surrendered  at  Sedan,  at  the  head  of  a  hundred  thousand 
men,  and  the  Empire,  which  he  had  been  constructing  with 
such  infinite  labor  and  care  for  twenty  years,  fell  to  the 
ground. 

But  even  then  the  trials  of  France  were  not  ended.  She 
whs  to  have  sorrow  upon  sorrow.  Next  came  the  surrender 
of  Metz,  with  another  great  army,  and  then  the  crowning 
disaster  of  the  long  siege  of  Paris,  lasting  over  four  months, 
and  ending  also  in  the  same  inglorious  way.  Jena  was 
avenged,  when  the  Prussian  cavalry  rode  through  the  Arch 
of  Triumph  down  the  Champs  Elysees.  It  was  a  bitter 
humiliation  for  France,  but  she  had  to  drink  the  cup  to  the 
very  dregs,  when  forced  to  sign  a  treaty  of  peace,  ceding  two 
of  her  most  beautiful  provinces,  Alsace  and  Lorraine,  and 
paying  an  indemnity  of  one  thousand  millions  of  dollars  for 
the  expenses  of  the  war !  Nor  was  this  all.  As  if  the 
seven  vials  of  wrath  were  to  be  poured  out  on  her  devoted 
head,  scarcely  was  the  foreign  war  ended,  before  civil  war 
began,  and  for  months  the  Commune  held  Paris  under  its 
feet.  Then  the  city  had  to  undergo  a  second  siege,  and  to  be 
bombarded  once  more,  not  by  Germans,  but  by  Frenchmen, 
until  its  proud  historical  monuments  were  destroyed  by  its 
own  people.     The  Column  of  the  Place  Vendome,  erected  to 


62  THE  RESURRECTION  OF  FRANCE. 

commemorate  the  victories  of  Napoleon,  out  of  cannon  taken 
in  his  great  battles,  was  levelled  to  the  ground;  and  the 
Palace  of  the  Tuileries  and  the  Hotel  de  Ville  were  burnt  by 
these  desperate  revolutionists,  who  at  last,  to  complete  the 
catalogue  of  their  crimes,  butchered  the  hostages  in  cold 
blood  !  This  was  the  end  of  the  war,  and  such  the  state  of 
Paris  in  May,  1871,  scarcely  four  years  ago. 

In  the  eyes  of  other  nations,  this  was  not  only  disaster, 
but  absolute  ruin.  It  seemed  as  if  the  country  could  not 
recover  in  one  generation,  and  that  for  the  next  thirty  years, 
so  far  as  any  political  power  or  influence  was  concerned, 
Prance  might  be  considered  as  blotted  from  the  map  of 
Europe. 

But  four  years  have  passed,  and  what  do  we  see  ?  The 
last  foreign  soldier  has  disappeared  from  the  soil  of  Prance, 
the  enormous  indemnity  is  paid,  and  the  country  is  appa- 
rently as  rich  and  prosperous,  and  Paris  as  bright  and  gay,  as 
ever. 

This  seems  a  miracle,  but  the  age  of  miracles  is  past,  and 
such  great  results  do  not  come  without  cause.  The  French 
are  a  very  rich  people — not  by  the  accumulation  of  a  few 
colossal  fortunes,  but  by  the  almost  infinite  number  of  small 
ones.  They  are  at  once  the  most  industrious  and  the  most 
economical  people  in  the  world.  They  will  live  on  almost 
nothing.  Even  the  Chinese  hardly  keep  soul  and  body  to- 
gether on  less  than  these  French  ouvriers  whom  we  see  going 
about  in  their  blouses,  and  who  form  the  laboring  population 
of  Paris.  So  all  the  petty  farmers  in  the  provinces  save 
something,  and  have  a  little  against  a  rainy  day  ;  and  when 
the  time  comes  that  the  Government  wants  a  loan,  out  from 
old  stockings,  and  from  chimney  corners,  come  the  hoarded 
napoleons,  which,  flowing  together  like  thousands  of  little 
rivulets,  make  the  mighty  stream  of  national  wealth. 

But  for  a  nation  to  pay  its  debts,  especially  when  they  have 
grown  to  be  so  great,  it  is  necessary  not  only  to  have  money, 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  FRANCE.  63 

but  to  know  how  to  use  it.  Aud  here  the  interests  of  France 
have  been  managed  with  consummate  ability.  In  spite  of  the 
constant  drain  caused  by  the  heavy  payment  of  the  war 
indemnity  to  Germany,  the  finances  of  the  country  have  not 
been  much  disturbed,  and  to-day  the  bills  of  the  Bank  of 
France  are  at  par.  I  feel  ashamed  for  my  country  when  the 
cable  reports  to  us  from  America,  that  our  national  currency 
is  so  depreciated  that  to  purchase  gold  in  New  York  one  must 
pay  a  premium  of  seventeen  per  cent.  !  I  wish  some  of  our 
political  financiers  would  come  to  Paris  for  a  few  months, 
to  take  lessons  from  the  far  more  successful  financiers  of 
France. 

What  delights  me  especially  in  this  great  achievement  is 
that  it  has  all  been  done  under  the  Republic  !  It  has  not 
required  a  monarchy  to  maintain  public  order,  and  to  give 
that  security  which  is  necessary  to  restore  the  full  confidence 
of  the  commercial  world.  It  is  only  by  a  succession  of  events 
so  singular  as  to  seem  indeed  providential,  that  France  has 
been  saved  from  being  given  over  once  more  into  the  hands 
of  the  old  dynasty.  From  this  it  has  been  preserved  by 
the  rivalship  of  different  parties  ;  so  that  the  Republic  has 
been  saved  by  the  blunders  of  its  enemies.  The  Lord  has 
confounded  them,  and  the  very  devices  intended  for  its 
destruction — such  as  putting  Marshal  MacMahon  in  power 
for  seven  years — have  had  the  effect  to  prevent  a  restoration. 
Thus  the  Republic  has  had  a  longer  life,  and  has  established 
its  title  to  the  confidence  of  the  nation.  No  doubt  if  iha 
Legitimists  and  the  Orleanists  and  Imperialists  could  all  unite, 
they  might  have  a  sovereign  to-morrow ;  but  each  party 
prefers  a  Republic  to  any  sovereign  except  its  own,  and  is 
willing  that  it  should  stand  for  a  few  years,  in  the  hope  that 
some  turn  of  events  will  then  give  the  succession  to  them. 
So,  amid  all  this  division  of  parties,  the  Republic  "  still 
lives,"  and  gains  strength  from  year  to  year.  The  country  is 
prosperous  under  it ;  order  is  perfectly  maintained  ;  and  ordei 


64  THE  RESURRECTION  OF  FRANCE. 

with  liberty :  why  should  it  not  remain  the  permanent 
government  of  France  ? 

If  only  the  country  could  be  contented,  and  willing  to  let 
well  enough  aione,  it  might  enjoy  many  long  years  of  j>ros- 
perity.  But  unfortunately  there  is  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  The 
last  war  has  left  the  seeds  of  another  war.  Its  disastrous 
issue  was  so  unexpected  and  so  galling  to  the  most  proud  and 
seusitive  people  in  Europe,  that  they  will  never  rest  satisfied 
till  its  terrible  humiliation  is  redressed.  The  resentment 
might  not  be  so  bitter  but  for  the  taking  of  its  two  provinces. 
The  defeats  in  the  field  of  battle  might  be  borne  as  the  fate  of 
war  (for  the  French  have  an  ingenious  way,  whenever  they 
lose  a  battle,  of  making  out  that  they  were  not  defeated,  but 
betrayed)  ;  even  the  payment  of  the  enormous  indemnity 
they  might  turn  into  an  occasion  of  boasting,  as  they  now  do, 
as  a  proof  of  the  vast  resources  of  the  country  ;  but  the  loss 
of  Alsace  and  Lorraine  is  a  standing  monument  of  their  dis- 
grace. They  cannot  wipe  it  off  from  the  map  of  Europe. 
There  it  is,  with  the  hated  German  flag  flying  from  the  for- 
tress of  Metz  and  the  Cathedral  of  Strasburg.  This  is  a 
humiliation  to  which  they  will  never  submit  contentedly,  and 
herein  lies  the  probability — nay  almost  the  certainty — of 
coming  war.  I  have  not  met  a  Frenchman  of  any  position, 
or.any  political  views,  Republican  or  Monarchical,  Bonapartist 
or  Legitimist,  Catholic  or  Protestant,  whose  blood  did  not 
boil  at  the  mention  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine,  and  who  did  not 
look  forward  to  a  fresh  conflict  with  Germany  as  inevitable. 
When  I  hear  a  Protestant  pastor  say,  "  I  will  give  all  my 
sons  to  fight  for  Alsace  and  Lorraine,"  I  cannot  but  think 
the  prospects  of  the  Peace  Society  not  very  encouraging  in 
Europe. 

In  the  exhibition  of  the  Dore  gallery,  in  London,  there  is 
a  very  striking  picture  by  that  great  artist  (who  is  himself 
an  Alsatian,  and  yet  an  intense  Frenchman),  intended  to 
represent  Alsace.     It  is  a  figure  of  a  young  woman,  tall  and 


THE   RESURRECTION   OF   FRA.NCE.  65 

beautiful,  with  eyes  downcast,  yet  with  pride  and  dignity  in 
her  sadness,  as  the  French  flag,  which  she  holds,  droops  to 
her  feet.  Beside  her  is  a  mother  sitting  in  a  chair  nursing 
a  child.  The  two  figures  tell  the  story  in  an  instant.  That 
mother  is  nursing  her  child  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of  his 
country.  It  is  sad  indeed  to  see  a  child  thus  born  to  a  des- 
tiny of  war  and  blood ;  to  see  the  shadow  of  carnage  and 
destruction  hovering  over  his  very  cradle.  Yet  such  is  the 
prospect  now,  which  fills  every  Christian  heart  with  sadness. 
Thus  will  the  next  generation  pay  in  blood  and  tears,  for 
the  follies  and  the  crimes  of  this. 


66  THE   FRENCH   NATIONAL   ASSEMBLY. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    FRENCH   NATIONAL  ASSEMBLY. 

We  have  been  to  Versailles.  Of  course  our  first  visit  was 
to  the  great  palace  built  by  Louis  XIV.,  which  is  over  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  long,  and  which  stands,  like  some  of  the 
remains  of  antiquity,  as  a  monument  of  royal  pride  and  am- 
bition. It  was  built,  as  the  kings  of  Egypt  built  the  Pyra- 
mids, to  tell  to  after  ages  of  the  greatness  of  his  kingdom 
and  the  splendor  of  his  reign.  A  gallant  sight  it  must  have 
been  when  this  vast  pile,  with  its  endless  suites  of  apart- 
ments, was  filled  with  the  most  brilliant  court  in  Europe ; 
when  statesmen  and  courtiers  and  warriors,  i(  fair  women 
and  brave  men,"  crowded  the  immense  saloons,  and  these 
terraces  and  gardens.  It  was  a  display  of  royal  magnificence 
such  as  the  world  has  seldom  seen.  The  cost  is  estimated  at 
not  less  than  two  hundred  millions  of  dollars — a  sum  which, 
considering  the  greater  value  of  money  two  centuries  ago,  was 
equal  to  five  times  that  amount  at  the  present  day,  or  a  thous- 
and millions,  as  much  as  the  whole  indemnity  paid  to  Germany. 
It  was  a  costly  legacy  to  bis  successors — costly  in  treasure 
and  costly  in  blood.  The  building  of  Versailles,  with  the 
ruinous  and  inglorious  wars  of  Louis  XIV.,  drained  the  re- 
sources of  France  for  a  generation,  and  by  the  burdens  they 
imposed  on  the  people,  prepared  the  way  for  the  Revolution. 
I  could  not  but  recall  this  with  a  bitter  feeling  as  I  stood  in 
the  gilded  chamber  where  the  great  king  slept,  and  saw  the 
very  bed  on  which  he  died.  That  was  the  end  of  all  his 
glory,  but  not  the  end  of  the  evil  that  he  wrought : 

"  The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them; 
The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones.'* 


THE    FRENCH   NATIONAL    ASSEMBLY.  67 

The  extravagance  of  this  monarch  was  paid  for  by  the  blood 
of  his  descendants.  If  he  had  not  lifted  his  head  so  high, 
the  head  of  Louis  XVI.  might  not  have  fallen  on  the  scaf- 
fold. It  is  good  for  France  that  she  has  no  longer  any  use 
for  such  gigantic  follies ;  and  that  the  day  is  past  when  a 
whole  nation  can  be  sacrificed  to  the  vanity  and  selfishness 
of  one  man.  In  this  case  the  very  magnitude  of  the  struc- 
ture defeated  its  object,  for  it  was  so  great  that  no  govern- 
ment since  the  Revolution  has  known  what  to  do  with  it. 
It  required  such  an  enormous  expenditure  to  keep  it  up,  that 
the  prudent  old  King  Louis  Philippe  could  not  afford  to  live 
in  it,  and  at  last  turned  it  into  a  kind  of  museum  or  histor- 
ical gallery,  filled  with  pictures  of  French  battles,  and  dedi- 
cated in  pompous  phrase,  To  all  tiie  Glories  of  France. 

But  it  was  not  to  see  the  palace  of  Louis  XIV.  that  I  had 
most  interest  in  revisiting  Versailles,  but  to  see  the  National 
Assembly  sitting  in  it,  which  is  at  present  the  ruling  power  in 
France.  If  Louis  XIV.  ever  revisits  the  scene  of  his  former 
magnificence,  he  must  shake  his  kingly  head  at  the  strange 
events  which  it  has  witnessed.  How  he  must  have  shuddered  to 
see  his  royal  house  invaded  by  a  mob,  as  it  was  in  the  time  of  the 
first  He  volution  ;  to  see  the  faithful  Swiss  guards  butchered 
in  his  very  palace,  and  the  Queen,  Marie  Antoinette,  escaping 
with  her  life;  to  see  the  grounds  sacred  to  Majesty  trampled  by 
the  "fierce  democracie"  of  France  ;  and  then  by  the  iron  heel  of 
the  Corsican  usurper ;  and  by  the  feet  of  the  allied  armies  under 
Wellington.  His  soul  may  have  had  peace  for  a  time  when, 
under  Louis  Philippe  and  Louis  Napoleon,  Versailles  was 
comparatively  silent  and  deserted.  But  what  would  he  have 
said  at  seeing,  only  four  winters  ago,  the  Emperor  of  Germany 
and  his  army  encamped  here  and  beleaguering  the  capital  ? 
Yet  perhaps  even  that  would  not  so  have  offended  his  royal 
dignity  as  to  see  a  National  Assembly  sitting  in  a  part  of 
this  very  palace  in  the  name  of  a  French  Republic  ! 

Strange  overturning  indeed ;  but   if  strange,    still   true 


68  THE   FRENCH    NATIONAL   ASSEMBLY. 

They  have  a  proverb  in  France  that  "  it  is  always  the  improb- 
able which  happens,"  and  so  indeed  it  seems  to  be  in  French 
history ;  it  is  full  of  surprises,  but  few  greater  than  that  which 
now  appears.  France  has  drifted  into  a  Republic,  when  both 
statesmen  and  people  meant  not  so.  It  was  not  the  first 
choice  of  the  nation.  Whatever  may  have  been  true  of  the 
populace  of  Paris,  the  immense  majority  of  the  French  peo- 
ple were  sincerely  attached  to  monarchy  in  some  form, 
whether  under  a  king  or  an  emperor ;  and  yet  the  country 
has  neither,  so  that,  as  has  been  wittily  said,  France  has  been 
"a  Republic  without  Republicans."  But  for  all  that  the 
Republic  is  here,  and  here  it  is  likely  to  remain. 

When  the  present  Assembly  first  met,  a  little  more  than 
four  years  since,  it  was  at  Bordeaux — for  to  that  corner  of 
France  was  the  government  driven ;  and  when  the  treaty  was 
signed,  and  it  came  north,  it  met  at  Versailles  rather  than 
at  Paris,  as  a  matter  of  necessity.  Paris  was  in  a  state  of 
insurrection.  It  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Commune,  and 
could  only  be  taken  after  a  second  siege,  and  many  bloody 
combats  around  the  walls  and  in  the  streets.  This,  and  the 
experience  so  frequent  in  French  history  of  a  government 
being  overthrown  by  the  mob  of  Paris  invading  the  legisla- 
tive halls,  decided  the  National  Assembly  to  remain  at  Ver- 
sailles, even  after  the  rebellion  was  subdued  ;  and  so  there 
it  is  to  this  day,  even  though  the  greater  part  of  the  deputies 
go  out  from  Paris  twelve  miles  every  morning,  and  return 
every  night ;  and  in  the  programme  which  has  been  drawn 
up  for  the  definite  establishment  of  the  Republic,  it  is  made 
an  article  of  the  Constitution  that  the  National  Assembly 
shall  always  meet  at  Versailles. 

The  place  of  meeting  is  the  former  theatre  of  the  palace, 
which  answers  the  purpose  very  well — the  space  below,  in 
what  was  the  pit,  sufficing  for  the  deputies,  while  the  galleries 
are  reserved  for  spectators.  We  found  the  approaches 
crowded  with  persons  seeking  admission,  which  can  only  be 


THE    FRENCH    NATIONAL    ASSEMBLY.  09 

by  ticket.  But  we  had  no  difficulty.  Among  the  deputies 
is  the  well-known  Protestant  pastor  of  Paris,  Edouard  de 
Pressense,  who  was  chosen  to  the  Assembly  in  the  stormy 
scenes  of  1871,  and  who  has  shown  himself  as  eloquent  in  tin. 
tribune  as  in  the  pulpit.  I  sent  him  my  card,  and  he  came 
out  immediately  with  two  tickets  in  his  hand,  and  directed 
one  of  the  attendants  to  show  us  into  the  best  seats  in  the 
house,  who,  thus  instructed,  conducted  us  to  the  diplomatic 
box  (which,  from  its  position  in  the  centre  of  the  first  bal- 
cony, must  have  been  once  the  royal  box),  from  which  we 
looked  down  upon  the  heads  of  the  National  Assembly  of 
France. 

And  what  a  spectacle  it  was  !  The  Assembly  consists  of 
over  seven  hundred  men,  who  may  be  considered  as  fair  rep- 
resentatives of  what  is  most  eminent  in  France.  Of  course, 
as  in  all  such  bodies,  there  are  many  elected  from  the  pro- 
vinces on  account  of  some  local  influence,  as  landed  proprie- 
tors, or  as  sons  of  noble  families,  who  count  only  by  their 
votes.  But  with  these  are  many  who  have  li  come  to  the 
front "  in  this  great  national  crisis,  by  the  natural  ascendancy 
which  great  ability  always  gives,  and  who  by  their  talents  have 
justly  acquired  a  commanding  influence  in  the  country. 

The  President  of  the  Assembly  is  the  Duke  d'Audiffiet 
Pasquier,  whose  elevated  seat  is  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall. 
In  front  of  him  is  "  the  tribune,"  from  which  the  speakers 
address  the  Assembly :  it  not  being  the  custom  here,  as  in 
our  Congress  or  in  the  English  Parliament,  for  a  member  to 
speak  from  his  place  in  the  house.  This  French  custom  has 
been  criticized  in  England,  as  bet  raving  this  talkative  people 
into  more  words,  for  a  Frenchman  does  not  wish  to  "  mount 
the  tribune  "  for  nothing,  and  once  there  the  temptation  is 
very  strong  to  make  "  a  speech."  But  we  did  not  find  that 
the  speeches  were  much  longer  than  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, though  they  were  certainly  more  violent. 

Looking  down  upon  the  Assembly,  we  see  how  it  is  divided 


70  THE   FRENCH   NATIONAL   ASSEMBLY. 

between  the  two  great  parties — the  Royalists  and  the  Republi- 
cans. Those  sitting  on  the  benches  to  the  right  of  the  Pres- 
ident comprise  the  former  of  every  shade — Legitimists, 
Orleanists,  and  Imperialists,  while  those  on  the  left  are  the 
Republicans.  Besides  these  two  grand  divisions  of  the  Right 
and  the  Left  there  are  minor  divisions,  such  as  the  Right 
Centre  and  the  Left  Centre,  the  former  wishing  a  Constitu- 
tional Monarchy,  and  the  latter  a  Conservative  Republic. 

Looking  over  this  sea  of  heads,  one  sees  some  that  bear 
great  names.  One  indeed,  and  that  the  greatest,  is  not  here, 
and  is  the  more  conspicuous  by  his  absence.  M.  Thiers,  to 
whom  France  owes  more  than  to  any  other  living  man,  since 
he  retired  from  the  Presidency,  driven  thereto  by  the  factious 
opposition  of  some  of  the  deputies,  and  perhaps  now  still 
more  since  the  death  of  his  life-long  friend,  De  Remusat,  has 
withdrawn  pretty  much  from  public  life,  and  devotes  himself 
to  literary  pursuits.  But  other  notable  men  are  here.  That 
giant  with  a  shaggy  mane,  walking  up  the  aisle,  is  Jules  Favre 
— a  man  who  has  been  distinguished  in  Paris  for  a  genera- 
tion, both  for  his  eloquence  at  the  bar,  and  for  his  inflexible 
Republicanism,  which  was  never  shaken,  even  in  the  corrupt- 
ing times  of  the  Empire,  and  who  in  the  dark  days  of  1870, 
when  the  Empire  fell,  was  called  by  acclamation  to  become  a 
member  of  the  Provisional  Government.  He  is  the  man 
who,  when  Bismarck  first  talked  of  peace  on  the  terms  of  a 
cession  of  territory,  proudly  answered  to  what  he  thought 
the  insulting  proposal,  "  Not  a  foot  of  our  soil,  not  a  stone 
of  our  fortresses  !  "  but  who,  some  months  after,  had  to  sign 
with  his  own  hand,  but  with  a  bitter  heart,  a  treaty  ceding 
Alsace  and  Lorraine,  and  agreeing  to  pay  an  indemnity  of 
one  thousand  millions  of  dollars  !  Ah  well !  he  made  mis- 
takes, as  everybody  does,  but  we  can  still  admire  his  lion 
heart,  even  though  we  admit  that  his  oratorical  fervor  was 
greater  than  his  political  sagacity.  And  yonder,  on  the  left, 
is  another  shaggy  head,  which  has  appeared  in  the  history  of 


THE   FBENCH   NATIONAL   ASSEMBLY.  71 

France,  and  may  appear  again.  That  is  Leon  Gambetta  ! 
who,  shut  up  in  Paris  by  the  siege,  and  impatient  for  activ- 
ity, escaped  in  a  balloon,  and  sailing  high  over  the  camps  of 
the  German  army,  alighted  near  Amiens,  and  was  made  Min- 
ister of  War,  and  began  with  his  fiery  eloquence,  like  another 
Peter  the  Hermit,  to  arouse  the  population  of  the  provinces 
to  a  holy  crusade  for  the  extermination  of  the  invader.  This 
desperate  energy  seemed  at  first  as  if  it  might  turn  the  for- 
tunes of  the  war.  Thousands  of  volunteers  rushed  forward 
to  fill  the  ranks  of  the  independent  corps  known  as  the  Franc- 
tireurs.  But  though  he  rallied  such  numbers,  he  could  not 
improvise  an  army ;  these  recruits,  though  personally  brave 
enough — for  Frenchmen  are  never  wanting  in  courage — had 
not  the  discipline  which  inspires  confidence  and  wins  victory. 
As  soon  as  these  raw  levies  were  hurled  against  the  German 
veterans,  they  were  dashed  to  pieces  like  waves  against  a 
rock.  The  attempt  was  so  daring  and  patriotic  that  it  de- 
served success  ;  but  it  was  too  late.  Gambetta's  work,  how- 
ever, is  not  ended  in  France.  Since  the  war  he  has  surprised 
both  his  friends  and  his  enemies  by  taking  a  very  conciliatory 
course.  He  does  not  flaunt  the  red  flag  in  the  eyes  of  the 
nation.  So  cautious  and  prudent  is  he  that  some  of  the  ex- 
treme radicals,  like  Louis  Blanc,  oppose  him  earnestly,  as 
seeking  to  found  a  government  which  is  republican  only  in 
name.  But  he  judges  more  wisely  that  the  only  Republic 
which  France,  with  its  monarchical  traditions,  will  accept, 
ts  a  conservative  one,  which  shall  not  frighten  capital  by  its 
wild  theories  of  a  division  of  property,  but  which,  while  it 
secures  liberty,  secures  order  also.  In  urging  this  policy,  he 
has  exercised  a  restraining  influence  over  the  more  violent 
members  of  his  own  party,  and  thus  done  much  toward  con- 
ciliating opposition  and  rendering  possible  a  French  Republic. 
On  the  same  side  of  the  house,  yet  nearer  the  middle,  thus 
occupying  a  position  in  the  Left  Centre,  is  another  man,  of 
whom  much  is  hoped  at  this  time,  M.  Laboulaye,  a  scholar 


72  THE    FRENCH   NATIONAL   ASSEMBLY. 

and  author,  who  by  his  prudence  and  moderation  has  won 
the  confidence  of  the  Assembly  and  the  country.  He  is  one 
of  the  wise  and  safe  men,  to  whom  France  looks  in  this 
crisis  of  her  political  history. 

But  let  us  suspend  our  observation  of  members  to  listen  to 
the  discussions.  As  we  entered,  the  Assembly  appeared  to 
be  in  confusion.  The  talking  in  all  parts  of  the  house  was 
incessant,  and  could  not  be  repressed.  The  officers  shouted 
"  Silence  !  "  which  had  the  effect  to  produce  quiet  for  about 
one  minute,  when  the  buzz  of  voices  rose  as  loud  as  ever. 
The  French  are  irrepressible.  And  this  general  talking  was 
not  the  result  of  indifference  :  on  the  contrary,  the  more  the 
Assembly  became  interested,  the  more  tumultuous  it  grew. 
Yet  there  was  no  question  of  importance  before  it,  but  sim- 
ply one  about  the  tariff  on  railways  !  But  a  Frenchman  will 
get  excited  on  anything,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  Assembly 
became  as  much  agitated  as  if  it  were  discussing  some  vital 
question  of  peace  or  war,  of  a  Monarchy  or  a  Republic. 
Speaker  after  speaker  rushed  to  the  tribune,  and  with  loud 
voices  and  excited  looks  demanded  to  be  heard.  The  whole 
Assembly  took  part  in  the  debate — those  who  agreed  with 
each  speaker  cheering  him  on,  while  those  who  opposed 
answered  with  loud  cries  of  dissent.  No  college  chapel, 
filled  with  a  thousand  students,  was  ever  a  scene  of  more 
wild  uproar.  The  President  tried  to  control  them,  but  in 
vain.  In  vain  lie  struck  his  gavel,  and  rang  his  bell,  and  at 
length  in  despair  arose  and  stood  with  folded  arms,  waiting 
for  the  storm  to  subside.  But  he  might  as  well  have 
appealed  to  a  hurricane.  The  storm  had  to  blow  itself  out. 
After  awhile  the  Assembly  itself  grew  impatient  of  further 
debate,  and  shouted  "  Aux  voix  !  aux  voix  !  "  and  the  ques- 
tion was  taken  ;  but  how  anybody  could  deliberate  or  vote  in 
such  a  roaring  tempest,  I  could  not  conceive. 

This  disposed  of,  a  deputy  presented  some  personal  matter 
involving  the  right  of  a  member  to  his  seat,  for  whom  he. 


THE    FRENCH   NATIONAL   ASSEMBLY.  73 

demanded  justice,  accusing  some  committee  or  other  of  having 
suppressed  evidence  in  his  favor.  Then  the  tumult  rose 
again.  His  charge  provoked  instant  and  bitter  replies. 
Members  left  their  seats,  and  crowded  around  the  tribune  as 
if  they  would  have  assailed  the  obnoxious  speaker  with 
violence.  From  one  quarter  came  cries,  "  Cest  vrai  /  Cest 
vrai  !  "  (It  is  true  ;  it  is  true),  while  in  another  quarter  a 
deputy  sprang  to  his  feet  and  rushed  forward  with  angry 
gesture,  shouting,  "  You  are  not  an  honest  man  !  "  So  the 
tumult  "  loud  and  louder  grew."  It  seemed  a  perfect  Bed- 
lam. I  confess  the  impression  was  not  pleasant,  and  I  could 
not  but  ask  myself,  Is  this  the  way  in  which  a  great  nation  is 
to  be  governed,  or  free  institutions  are  to  be  constituted  ?  It 
was  such  a  contrast  to  the  dignified  demeanor  of  the  Parlia- 
ment of  England,  or  the  Congress  of  the  United  States.  We 
have  sometimes  exciting  scenes  in  our  House  of  Representa- 
tives, when  members  forget  themselves ;  but  anything  like 
this  I  think  could  not  be  witnessed  in  any  other  great 
National  Assembly,  unless  it  were  in  the  Spanish  Cortes.  I 
did  not  wonder  that  sober  and  thoughtful  men  in  France 
doubt  the  possibility  of  popular  institutions,  when  they  see  a 
deliberative  body,  managing  grave  affairs  of  State,  so  little 
capable  of  self-control. 

And  yet  we  must  not  make  out  things  worse  than  they 
are,  or  attach  too  much  importance  to  these  lively  demon- 
strations. Some  who  look  on  philosophically,  would  say  that 
this  mere  talk  amounts  to  nothing ;  that  every  question  of 
real  importance  is  deliberated  upon  and  really  decided  in 
private,  in  the  councils  of  the  different  parties,  before  it  is 
brought  into  the  arena  of  public  debate  ;  and  that  this  dis- 
cussion is  merely  a  safety-valve  for  the  irrepressible  French- 
man, a  way  of  letting  off  steam,  a  process  which  involves  no 
danger,  although  accompanied  with  a  frightful  hissing  and 
roaring.  This  is  a  kindly  as  well  as  a  philosophical  way  of 
putting  the  matter,  and  perhaps  is  a  just  one. 


74  THE    FRENCH   NATIONAL   ASSEMBLY. 

Some,  too,  will  add  that  there  is  another  special  cause  for 
excitement,  viz.,  that  this  legislative  body  is  at  this  moment 
in  the  article  of  death,  and  that  these  scenes  are  but  the 
throes  and  pangs  of  dissolution.  This  National  Assembly- 
has  been  in  existence  now  more  than  four  years,  and  it  is 
time  for  it  to  die.  Indeed  it  has  had  no  right  to  live  so 
long.  It  was  elected  for  a  specific  purpose  at  the  close  of  the 
war — to  make  peace  with  the  Germans,  and  that  duty  dis- 
charged, its  functions  were  ended,  and  it  had  no  legal  right  to 
live  another  day,  or  to  perform  another  act  of  sovereignty. 
But  necessity  knows  no  law.  At  that  moment  France  was 
without  a  head.  The  Emperor  was  gone,  the  old  Senate  was 
gone,  the  Legislative  Body  was  gone,  and  the  country  was 
actually  without  a  government,  and  so,  as  a  matter  of  self- 
preservation,  the  National  Assembly  held  on.  It  elected  M. 
Thiers  President  of  the  State,  and  he  performed  his  duties 
with  such  consummate  ability  that  France  had  never  been  so 
well  governed  before.  Then  in  an  evil  hour,  finding  that  he 
was  an  obstacle  to  the  plans  of  the  Legitimists  to  restore  the 
Monarchy,  they  combined  to  force  him  to  resign,  and  put 
Marshal  MacMahon  in  his  place,  a  man  who  may  be  a  good 
soldier  (although  he  never  did  anything  very  great,  and 
blundered  fearfully  in  the  German  war,  having  his  whole 
army  captured  at  Sedan),  but  who  never  pretended  to  be  a 
statesman.  He  was  selected  as  a  convenient  tool  in  the 
hands  of  the  intriguers.  But  even  in  him  they  find  they 
have  more  than  they  bargained  for  ;  for  in  a  moment  of  con- 
fidence they  voted  him  the  executive  power  for  seven  years, 
and  now  he  will  not  give  up,  even  to  make  way  for  a  Legiti- 
mate sovereign,  for  the  Comte  de  Chambord,  or  for  the  son  of 
his  late  Emperor,  Napoleon  III.  All  this  time  the  Assembly 
has  been  acting  without  any  legal  authority ;  but  as  power  is 
sweet,  it  held  on,  and  is  holding  on  still.  But  now,  as  order  is 
fully  restored,  all  excuse  is  taken  away  for  surviving  longer. 
The  only  thing  it  has  to  do  is  to  die  gracefully ;  that  is,  to 


THE   FRENCH   NATIONAL   ASSEMBLY.  75 

dissolve,  and  leave  it  to  the  country  to  elect  a  new  Assembly 
which,  being  fresh  from  the  people,  shall  more  truly  represent 
the  will  of  the  nation.  And  yet  these  men  are  very  reluc- 
tant to  go,  knowing  as  many  of  them  do,  that  they  will  not 
return.  Hence  the  great  question  now  is  that  of  dissolution — 
"  to  be  or  not  to  be  " ;  and  it  is  not  strange  that  many  post- 
pone as  long  as  they  can  "  the  inevitable  hour."  It  is  for  this 
reason,  it  is  said,  because  of  its  relation  to  the  question  of  its 
own  existence,  that  the  Assembly  wrangles  over  unimportant 
matters,  hoping  by  such  discussions  to  cause  delay,  and  so  to 
throw  over  the  elections  till  another  year. 

But  as  time  and  tide  wait  for  no  man,  so  death  comes  on  with 
stealthy  step,  and  this  National  Assembly  must  soon  go  the 
way  of  all  the  earth.  What  will  come  after  it  ?  Another 
Assembly — so  it  seems  now — more  Republican  still.  That  is 
the  fear  of  the  Monarchists.  But  the  cause  of  the  Republic 
has  gained  greatly  in  these  four  years,  as  it  is  seen  to  be  not 
incompatible  with  order.  It  is  no  longer  the  Red  Republic, 
which  inspired  such  terror ;  it  is  not  communism,  nor  social- 
ism, nor  war  against  property.  It  is  combined  order  and 
liberty.  As  this  conviction  penetrates  the  mass  of  the  peo- 
ple, they  are  converted  to  the  new  political  faith,  and  so  the 
Republic  begins  to  settle  itself  on  sure  foundations.  It  is  all 
the  more  likely  to  be  permanent,  because  it  was  not  adopted 
in  a  burst  of  popular  enthusiasm,  but  very  slowly,  and  from 
necessity.  It  is  accepted  because  no  other  government  is 
possible  in  France,  at  least  for  any  length  of  time.  If  the 
Oomte  de  Chambord  were  proclaimed  king  to-morrow,  he 
might  reign  for  a  few  years — till  the  next  revolution.  It  is 
this  conviction  which  has  brought  many  conservative  men  to 
the  side  of  the  Republic.  M.  Thiers,  the  most  sagacious  of 
French  statesmen,  has  always  been  in  favor  of  monarchy. 
He  was  the  Minister  of  Louis  Philippe,  and  one  of  his  say- 
ings used  to  be  quoted:  "  A  constitutional  monarchy  is  the 
best  of  republics."     Perhaps  he  would  still  prefer  a  govern- 


76  THE    FRENCH   NATIONAL   ASSEMBLY. 

ment  like  that  of  England.  But  he  sees  that  to  be  impossible 
in  France,  and,  like  a  wise  man  that  he  is,  he  takes  the  next 
best  thing — which  is  a  Conservative  Republic,  based  on  a 
written  constitution,  like  that  of  the  United  States,  and  girt 
round  by  every  check  on  the  exercise  of  power — a  govern- 
ment in  which  there  is  the  greatest  possible  degree  of  personal 
freedom  consistent  with  public  order.  To  this,  as  the  final 
result  of  all  her  revolutions,  France  seems  to  be  steadily 
gravitating  now,  as  her  settled  form  of  government.  That 
this  last  experiment  of  political  regeneration  may  be  success- 
ful, must  be  the  hope  of  all  friends  of  liberty,  not  only  in 
America,  but  all  over  the  world. 


THE    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS    OF   PARIS.  77 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS    OF    PARIS. 

I  have  written  of  the  startling  contrasts  of  London ;  what 
shall  I  say  of  those  of  Paris  ?  It  is  the  gayest  city  in  the 
world,  yet  the  one  in  which  there  are  more  suicides  than  in  any 
other.  It  if  the  city  of  pleasure,  yet  where  pleasure  often 
turns  to  pain,  and  the  dance  of  dissipation,  whirling  faster 
and  faster,  becomes  the  dance  of  death.  It  is  a  city  which 
seems  devoted  to  amusement,  to  which  the  rich  and  the  idle 
flock  from  all  countries  to  spend  life  in  an  endless  round  of 
enjoyment ;  with  which  some  of  our  countrymen  have  become 
so  infatuated  that  their  real  feeling  is  pretty  well  expressed 
in  the  familiar  saying — half  witty  and  half  wicked — that  "  all 
good  Americans  go  to  Paris  when  they  die."  Certainly  many 
of  them  do  not  dream  of  any  higher  Paradise. 

And  yet  it  is  a  city  in  which  there  are  many  sad  and 
mournful  scenes,  and  in  which  he  who  observes  closely,  who 
looks  a  little  under  the  surface,  will  often  walk  the  streets  in 
profound  melancholy.  In  short,  it  is  a  city  of  such  infinite 
variety,  so  many-colored,  that  the  laughing  and  the  weeping 
philosopher  may  find  abundant  material  for  his  peculiar  vein. 
Eugene  Sue,  in  his  "  Mysteries  of  Paris,"  has  made  us  fami- 
liar with  certain  tragic  aspects  of  Parisian  life  hidden  from 
the  common  eye.  With  all  its  gayety,  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  concealed  misery  which  keeps  certain  quarters  in  a  chronic 
state  of  discontent,  which  often  breaks  out  in  bloody  insur- 
rections ;  so  that  the  city  which  boasts  that  it  is  "  the  centre  of 
civilization,"  is  at  the  same  time  the  focus  of  revolution,  of 
most  of  the  plots  and  conspiracies  which  trouble  the  peace  of 


73  THE    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS    OF   PARIS. 

Europe.  As  the  capital  of  a  great  nation,  the  centre  of  its 
intellectual,  its  literary,  and  its  artistic  life,  it  has  a  peculiar 
fascination  for  those  who  delight  in  the  most  elevated  social 
intercourse.  Its  salons  are  the  most  brilliant  in  the  world, 
so  that  we  can  understand  the  feeling  of  Madame  de  Stael, 
the  woman  of  society,  who  considered  her  banishment  from 
Paris  by  the  first  Napoleon  as  the  greatest  punishment,  and 
who  M  would  rather  see  the  stones  of  the  Rue  du  Bac  than 
all  the  mountains  of  Switzerland";  and  yet  this  very  brillian- 
cy sometimes  wearies  to  satiety,  so  that  we  can  understand 
equally  the  feeling  of  poor,  morbid  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau, 
who  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago  turned  his  back  upon  it 
with  disgust,  saying,  "  Farewell,  Paris  !  city  of  noise,  and 
dust,  and  strife  !  He  who  values  peace  of  mind  can  never  be 
far  enough  from  thee  !  " 

If  we  are  quite  just,  we  shall  not  go  to  either  of  these 
extremes.  We  shall  see  the  good  and  the  evil,  and  frankly 
acknowledge  both.  Paris  is  generally  supposed  to  be  a  sin- 
ner above  all  other  cities ;  to  have  a  kind  of  bad  eminence 
for  its  immorality.  It  is  thought  to  be  a  centre  of  vice  and 
demoralization,  and  some  innocent  young  preachers  who  have 
never  crossed  the  sea,  would  no  doubt  feel  justified  in  de- 
nouncing it  as  the  wickedest  city  in  the  world.  As  to  the 
extent  to  which  immorality  of  any  kind  prevails,  I  have  no 
means  of  judging,  except  such  as  every  stranger  has ;  but  cer- 
tainly as  to  intemperance,  there  is  nothing  here  to  compare 
with  that  in  London,  or  Glasgow,  or  Edinburgh ;  and  as  to 
the  other  form  of  vice  we  can  only  judge  by  its  public  display, 
and  there  is  nothing  half  so  gross,  which  so  outrages  all 
decency,  as  that  which  shocks  and  disgusts  every  foreigner  in 
the  streets  of  London.  No  doubt  here,  as  in  every  great 
capital  which  draws  to  itself  the  life  of  a  whole  nation,  there 
is  a  concentration  of  the  bad  as  well  as  the  good  elements  of 
society,  and  we  must  expect  to  find  much  that  is  depraved 
and  vicious ;  but  that  in  these  respects  Paris  is  worse  than 


THE    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS    OF   PARIS.  79 

London,  or  Berlin,  or  Vienna,  or  even  New  York,  I  see  no 
reason  to  believe. 

Without  taking,  therefore,  a  lofty  attitude  of  denuncia- 
tion on  the  one  hand,  or  going  into  sudden  raptures  on  the 
other,  there  are  certain  aspects  of  Paris  which  lie  on  the  sur- 
face, and  which  any  one  may  observe  without  claiming  to  be 
either  wiser  or  better  than  his  neighbors. 

I  have  tried  to  see  the  city  both  in  its  brighter  lights  and 
its  darker  shadows.  I  have  lived  in  Paris,  first  and  last,  a 
good  deal.  I  was  here  six  months  in  1847-8,  and  saw 
the  Revolution  which  overthrew  Louis  Philippe,  and  have 
been  here  often  since.  I  confess  I  am  fond  of  it,  and  always 
return  with  pleasure.  That  which  strikes  the  stranger  at 
once  is  its  bright,  sunny  aspect ;  there  is  something  inspiring 
in  the  very  look  of  the  people ;  one  feels  a  change  in  the 
very  air.  Since  we  came  here  now,  we  have  been  riding 
about  from  morning  to  night.  Our  favorite  drive  is  along 
the  Boulevards  just  at  evening,  when  the  lamps  are  lighted, 
and  all  Paris  seems  to  be  sitting  out  of  doors.  The  work  of 
the  day  is  over,  and  the  people  have  .nothing  to  do  but  to 
enjoy  themselves.  By  hundreds  and  thousands  they  are  sit- 
ting on  the  wide  pavements,  sipping  their  coffee,  and  talking 
with  indescribable  animation.  Then  we  extend  our  ride  to 
the  Champs  Elysees,  where  the  broad  avenue  is  one  blaze  of 
light,  and  places  of  amusement  are  open  on  every  side,  from 
which  comes  the  sound  of  music.  It  is  all  a  fairy  scene,  such 
as  one  reads  of  in  the  Arabian  Nights.  Thousands  are  sit- 
ting under  the  trees,  enjoying  the  cool  evening  air,  or  coming 
in  from  a  ride  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

But  it  may  be  thought  that  these  are  the  pleasures  of  the 
rich.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  the  pleasures  of  all  classes ; 
and  that  is  the  charming  thing  about  it.  That  which  pleases 
me  most  in  Paris  is  the  general  cheerfulness.  I  do  not  ob- 
serve such  wide  extremes  of  condition  as  in  London,  such 
painful  contrasts  between  the  rich  and  the  poor.    Indeed,  I  do 


80  THE    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS    OF   PARIS. 

not  find  here  such  abject  poverty,  nor  see  such  dark,  sullen, 
scowling  faces,  which  indicate  such  brutal  degradation,  as  I 
saw  in  the  low  quarters  of  London.  Here  everybody  seems 
to  be,  at  least  in  a  small  way,  comfortable  and  contented. 
I  have  spoken  once  before  of  the  industry  of  the  people 
(no  city  in  the  world  is  such  a  hive  of  busy  bees)  and  of 
their  economy,  which  shows  itself  even  in  their  pleasures, 
of  which  they  are  fond,  but  which  they  get  very  cheap.  No 
people  will  get  so  much  out  of  so  little.  What  an  English 
workman  would  spend  in  a  single  drunken  debauch,  a  French- 
man will  spread  over  a  week,  and  get  a  little  enjoyment  out 
of  it  every  day.  It  delights  me  to  see  how  they  take  their 
pleasures.  Everybody  seems  to  be  happy  in  his  own  way, 
and  not  to  be  envious  of  his  neighbor.  If  a  man  cannot  ride 
with  two  horses,  he  will  go  with  one,  and  even  if  that  one  be 
a  sorry  hack,  with  ribs  sticking  out  of  his  sides,  and  that 
seems  just  ready  for  the  crows,  no  matter,  he  will  pile  his 
wife  and  children  into  the  little,  low  carriage,  and  off  they 
go,  not  at  great  speed,  to  be  sure,  but  as  gay  and  merry  as  if 
they  were  the  Emperor  and  his  court,  with  outriders  going 
before,  and  a  body  of  cavalry  clattering  at  their  heels. 
When  I  have  seen  a  whole  family  at  Versailles  or  St.  Cloud 
dining  on  five  francs  (oh  no,  that  is  too  magnificent ;  they 
carry  their  dinner  with  them,  and  it  probably  does  not  cost 
them  two  francs),  I  admire  the  simple  tastes  which  are  so 
easily  satisfied,  and  the  miracle-working  art  which  extracts 
honey  from  every  daisy  by  the  roadside. 

Such  simple  and  universal  enjoyment  would  not  be  possi- 
ble, but  for  one  trait  which  is  peculiar  to  the  French — an 
entire  absence  of  mauvaise  hontef  or  false  shame ;  the  foolish 
pride,  which  is  so  common  in  England  and  America,  of  wish- 
ing to  be  thought  as  rich  or  as  great  as  others.  In  London 
no  one  would  dare,  even  if  he  were  allowed,  to  show  himself 
in  Hyde  Park  in  such  unpretentious  turnouts  as  those  in 
which  half  Paris  will  go  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.     But  here 


THE    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS    OF    PARIS.  81 

everybody  jogs  along  at  his  own  gait,  not  troubling  himself 
about  his  neighbor.  "  Live  and  let  live  "  seems  to  be,  if  not 
the  law  of  the  country,  at  least  the  universal  habit  of  the 
people.  Whatever  other  faults  the  French  have,  I  believe 
they  are  freer  than  most  nations  from  "  envy,  malice,  and 
all  uncharitableness." 

With  this  there  is  a  feeling  of  self-respect,  even  among  the 
common  people,  that  is  very  pleasing.  If  you  speak  to  a  French 
servant,  or  to  a  workman  in  a  blouse,  he  does  not  sink  into 
the  earth  as  if  he  were  an  inferior  being,  or  take  a  tone  of 
servility,  but  answers  politely,  yet  self-respectingly,  as  one 
conscious  that  he  too  is  a  man.  The  most  painful  thing  that 
I  found  in  England  was  the  way  in  which  the  distinctions  of 
rank,  which  seem  to  be  as  rigid  as  the  castes  of  India,  have 
eaten  into  the  manhood  and  self-respect  of  our  great  Anglo- 
Saxon  race.  But  here  "  a  man 's  a  man,"  and  especially  if 
he  is  a  Frenchman,  he  is  as  good  as  anybody. 

From  this  absence  of  false  pride  and  false  shame  comes 
the  readiness  of  the  people  to  talk  about  their  private  affairs. 
How  quickly  they  take  you  into  their  confidence,  and  tell 
you  all  their  little  personal  histories  !  The  other  day  we  went 
to  the  Salpetriere,  the  great  hospital  for  aged  women,  which 
Mrs.  Field  describes  in  her  "Home  Sketches  in  France," 
where  are  five  thousand  poor  creatures  cared  for  by  the  charity 
of  Paris.  Hundreds  of  these  were  seated  under  the  trees,  or 
walking  about  the  grounds.     As  I  went  to  find  one  of  the 

officials,  I  left  C standing  under  an  arch.     Seeing  her 

there,  one  of  the  old  women,  with  that  politeness  which  is 
instinctive  with  the  French,  invited  her  into  her  little  room. 
When  I  came  back,  I  found  they  had  struck  up  a  friendship. 
The  good  mother — poor,  dear,  old  soul ! — had  told  all  her 
little  story  :  who  she  was,  and  how  she  came  there,  and  how 
she  lived.  She  made  her  own  soup,  she  said,  and  had  put  up 
some  pretty  muslin  curtains,  and  had  a  tiny  bit  of  a  stove, 
and  so  got  along  very  nicely.  This  communicativeness  is  not 
4* 


82  THE    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS    OF    PARIS. 

confined  to  the  inmates  of  hospitals.  It  is  a  national  trait, 
which  makes  us  love  a  people  that  give  us  their  confidence 
so  freely. 

I  might  add  many  other  amiable  traits,  which  give  a  great 
charm  to  the  social  life  of  the  French,  and  fill  their  homes 
with  brightness  and  sunshine. 

But  of  course  there  is  another  side  to  the  picture.  There 
is  lightning  in  the  beautiful  cloud,  and  sometimes  the  thunder 
breaks  fearfully  over  this  devoted  city.  I  do  not  refer  to 
great  public  calamities,  such  as  war  and  siege,  bringing 
"  battle,  and  murder,  and  sudden  death,"  but  to  those  daily 
tragedies,  which  are  enacted  in  a  great  city,  which  the  world 
never  hears  of,  where  men  and  women  drop  out  of  existence, 
as  one 

u^3inks  into  the  waves  with  bubbling  groan," 

and  disappear  from  view,  and  the  ocean  rolls  over  them, 
burying  the  story  of  their  unhappy  lives  and  their  wretched 
end.  Something  of  this  darker  shading  to  bright  and  gay 
Paris,  one  may  discover  who  is  curious  in  such  matters. 
There  is  a  kind  of  fascination  which  sometimes  lures  me  to 
search  out  that  which  is  sombre  and  tragic  in  human  life  and 
in  history.  So  I  have  been  to  the  Prison  de  la  Koquette, 
over  which  is  an  inscription  which  might  be  written  over  the 
gates  of  hell :  Depot  des  Condamnes.  Here  the  condemned 
are  placed  before  they  are  led  to  death,  and  in  the  open  space 
in  front  take  place  all  the  executions  in  Paris.  Look  you  at 
those  five  stones  deep  set  in  the  pavement,  on  which  are 
planted  the  posts  of  the  Guillotine  !  Over  that  in  the  cen- 
tre hangs  the  fatal  knife,  which  descends  on  the  neck  of  the 
victim,  whose  head  rolls  into  the  basket  below. 

But  pijsons  are  not  peculiar  to  Paris,  and  probably  quite 
as  many  executions  have  been  witnessed  in  front  of  Newgate, 
in  London.  But  that  which  gives  a  peculiar  and  sadder 
interest  to  this  spot,  is  that  here  took  place  one  of  the  most 


THE   LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS    OF    PARIS.  83 

terrible  tragedies  even  in  French  history — the  massacre  of 
the  hostages  in  the  days  of  the  Commune.  In  that  prison 
yard  the  venerable  Archbishop  of  Paris  was  shot,  with  others 
who  bore  honored  names.  No  greater  atrocity  was  enacted 
even  in  the  Reign  of  Terror.  There  fiends  in  human  shape, 
with  hearts  as  hard  as  the  stones  of  the  street,  butchered  old 
age.  In  another  quarter  of  Paris,  on  the  heights  of  Mont- 
martre,  the  enraged  populace  shot  down  two  brave  generals 
— Lecompte  and  Clement-Thomas.  I  put  my  hand  into  the 
very  holes  made  in  the  wall  of  a  house  by  the  murderous 
balls.  Such  cowardly  assassinations,  occurring  more  than 
once  in  French  history,  reveal  a  trait  of  character  not  quite 
so  amiable  as  some  that  I  have  noticed.  They  show  that  the 
polite  and  polished  Frenchman  may  be  so  aroused  as  to  be 
turned  into  a  wild  beast,  and  give  a  color  of  reason  to  the 
savage  remark  of  Voltaire — himself  one  of  the  race — that  "  a 
Frenchman  was  half  monkey  and  half  tiger." 

I  will  present  but  one  other  dark  picture.  I  went  one 
day,  to  the  horror  of  my  companion,  to  visit  the  Morgue,  the 
receptacle  of  all  the  suicides  in  Paris,  where  their  bodies  are 
exposed  that  they  may  be  recognized  by  friends.  Of  course 
some  are  brought  here  who  die  suddenly  in  the  streets,  and 
whose  names  are  unknown.  But  the  number  of  suicides  is 
fearfully  great.  Bodies  are  constantly  fished  out  of  the 
Seine,  of  those  who  throw  themselves  from  the  numerous 
bridges.  Others  climb  to  the  top  of  the  Column  in  the 
Place  Vendome,  or  of  that  on  the  Place  of  the  Bastille,  or  to 
the  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  and  throw  themselves  over  the 
parapet,  and  their  mangled  bodies  are  picked  up  on  the 
pavement  below.  Others  find  the  fumes  of  charcoal  an  easier 
way  to  fall  into  "  an  eternal  sleep."  But  thus,  by  one  means 
or  other,  by  pistol  or  by  poison,  by  the  tower  or  the  river, 
almost  every  day  has  its  victim.  I  think  the  exact  statistics 
show  more  than  one  suicide  a  day  throughout  the  year. 
When  I  was  at  the  Morgue  there  were  two  bodies  stretched 


84  THE    LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS    OF    PARIS. 

out  stark  and  cold — a  man  and  a  woman,  both  young.  1 
looked  at  them  with  very  sad  reflections.  If  those  poor  lips 
could  but  speak,  what  tragedies  they  might  tell !  Who 
knows  what  hard  battle  of  life  they  had  to  fight — what 
struggles  wrung  that  manly  breast,  or  what  sorrow  broke 
that  woman's  heart  ?     Who  was  she  ? 

"  Had  she  a  father  ?  had  she  a  mother  ? 
Had  she  a  sister  ?  had  she  a  brother  ? 
Or  one  dearer  still  than  all  other  ?  " 

Perhaps  she  had  led  a  life  of  shame,  but  all  trace  of  pas- 
sion was  gone  now : 

'*  Death  had  left  on  her 
Only  the  beautiful." 

And  as  I  marked  the  rich  tresses  which  hung  down  over  her 
shoulders,  I  thought  Jesus  would  not  have  disdained  her  if 
she  had  come  to  him  as  a  penitent  Magdalen,  and  with  that 
flowing  hair  had  wiped  His  sacred  feet. 

I  do  not  draw  these  sad  pictures  to  point  a  moral  against 
the  French,  as  if  they  were  sinners  above  all  others,  but  I 
think  this  great  number  of  suicides  may  be  ascribed,  in  part 
at  least,  to  the  mercurial  and  excitable  character  of  the 
people.  They  are  easily  elated  and  easily  depressed  ;  now 
rising  to  the  height  of  joyous  excitement,  and  now  sinking  to 
the  depths  of  despair.  And  when  these  darker  moods  come 
on,  what  so  natural  as  that  those  who  have  not  a  strong 
religious  feeling  to  restrain  them,  or  to  give  them  patience  to 
bear  their  trials,  should  seek  a  quick  relief  in  that  calm  rest 
which  no  rude  waking  shall  ever  disturb  ?  If  they  had  that 
faith  in  God,  and  a  life  to  come,  which  is  the  only  true  con- 
solation in  all  time  of  our  trouble,  in  all  time  of  our  adver- 
sity, they  would  not  so  often  rush  to  the  grave,  thinking  to 
bury  their  sorrows  in  the  silence  of  the  tomb. 


THE    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS    OF    PARIS.  86 

Thus  musing  on  the  lights  and  shadows  of  Paris,  I  turn 
away  half  in  admiration  and  half  in  pity,  but  all  in  love. 
With  all  its  shadows,  it  is  a  wonderful  city,  by  far  the  great- 
est, except  London,  in  the  modern  world,  and  the  French  are 
a  wonderful  people ;  and  while  I  am  not  blind  to  their  weak- 
nesses, their  vanity,  their  childish  passion  for  military  glory, 
yet  M  with  all  their  faults  I  love  them  still."  And  I  have 
written  thus,  not  only  from  a  feeling  of  love  for  Paris  from 
personal  associations,  but  from  a  sense  of  justice,  believing 
that  the  harsh  j  udgment  often  pronounced  upon  it  is  hasty 
and  mistaken.  All  such  sweeping  declarations  are  sure  to 
be  wrong.  No  doubt  the  elements  of  good  and  evil  are 
mingled  here  in  large  proportions,  and  act  with  great  inten- 
sity, and  sometimes  with  terrific  results.  But  Frenchmen 
are  not  worse  than  other  men,  nor  Paris  worse  than  other 
cities.  If  it  has  some  dark  spots,  it  has  many  bright  ones, 
in  its  ancient  seats  of  learning  and  its  noble  institutions  of 
charity.  Taking  them  all  together,  they  form  a  basis  for  a 
very  kindly  judgment.  And  I  believe  that  He  who  from  His 
throne  in  Heaven  looks  down  upon  all  the  dwellers  upon 
earth,  seeing  that  in  the  judgment  of  truth  and  of  history 
this  city  is  not  utterly  condemned,  would  say  c<  Neither  do  I 
condemn  thee :  go  and  sin  no  more." 


86  GOING   ON  A  PILGRIMAGE. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

GOING    ON   A   PILGRIMAGE. 

Gekeva,  July  12th. 

We  have  been  on  a  pilgrimage.  In  coming  to  France,  I 
had  a  great  desire  to  visit  one  of  those  shrines  which  have 
become  of  late  objects  of  such  enthusiastic  devotion,  and  at- 
tracted pilgrims  from  all  parts  of  Europe,  and  even  from 
America.  In  a  former  chapter  I  spoke  of  the  Resurrection  of 
France,  referring  to  its  material  prosperity  as  restored  since 
the  war.  There  has  been  also  a  revival  of  religious  fervor — 
call  it  superstition  or  fanaticism — which  is  quite  remark- 
able. Those  who  have  kept  watch  of  events  in  the  religious 
as  well  as  in  the  political  world,  have  observed  a  sudden  ac- 
cess of  zeal  throughout  Catholic  Christendom.  Whatever 
the  cause,  whether  the  "  persecution,"  real  or  imaginary,  of 
the  Holy  Father,  or  the  heavy  blows  which  the  Church  has 
received  from  the  iron  hand  of  Germany  in  its  wars  with 
Austria  and  France — the  fact  is  evident  that  there  has  been 
a  great  increase  of  activity  among  the  more  devout  Catholics 
— which  shows  itself  in  a  spirit  of  propagandism,  in  a  mis- 
sions," which  are  a  kind  of  revivals,  and  in  pilgrimages  to 
places  which  are  regarded  as  having  a  peculiar  sanctity. 

These  pilgrimages  are  so  utterly  foreign  to  our  American 
ideas,  they  appear  so  childish  and  ridiculous,  that  it  seems 
impossible  to  speak  of  them  with  gravity.  And  yet  there 
has  been  at  least  one  of  these  pious  expeditions  from  the 
United  States  (of  which  there  was  a  long  account  in  the  New 
York  papers),  in  which  the  pilgrims  walked  in  procession 
down  Broadway,  and  embarked  with  the  blessing  of  our  new 


GOING    ON   A   PILGRIMAGE.  87 

American  Cardinal.  From  England  they  have  been  quite 
frequent.  Large  numbers,  among  whom  we  recognize  the 
names  of  several  well  known  Catholic  noblemen,  assemble 
in  London,  and  receive  the  blessing  of  Cardinal  Manning, 
and  then  leave  to  make  devout  pilgrimages  to  the  "holy- 
places"  (which  are  no  longer  only  in  Palestine,  but  for 
greater  convenience  have  been  brought  nearer,  and  are  now 
to  be  found  in  France),  generally  ending  with  a  pilgrimage 
to  Home,  to  cast  themselves  at  the  feet  of  the  Holy  Father, 
who  gives  them  his  blessing,  while  he  bewails  the  condition 
of  Europe,  and  anathematizes  those  who  "  oppress "  the 
Church — thus  blessing  and  cursing  at  the  same  time. 

If  my  object  in  writing  were  to  cast  ridicule  on  the  whole 
affair,  there  is  something  very  tempting  in  the  easy  and 
luxurious  way  in  which  these  modern  pilgrimages  are  per- 
formed. Of  old,  when  a  pilgrim  set  out  for  the  Holy  Land, 
it  was  with  nothing  but  a  staff  in  his  hand,  and  sandals  on 
his  feet,  and  thus  he  travelled  hundreds  of  leagues,  over 
mountain  and  moor,  throasrh  strange  countries,  begging  his 
way  from  door  to  door,  reaching  his  object  at  last  perhaps 
only  to  die.  Even  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca  has  something 
imposing  to  the  imagination,  as  a  long  procession  of  camels 
files  out  of  the  streets  of  Cairo,  and  takes  the  way  of  the 
desert.  But  these  more  fashionable  pilgrims  travel  by  steam, 
in  first-class  railway  carriages,  with  Cook's  excursion  tickets, 
and  are  duly  lodged  and  cared  for,  from  the  moment  they  set 
out  till  they  are  safely  returned  to  England.  One  of  Cook's 
agents  in  Paris  told  me  he  had  thus  conveyed  a  party  of  two 
thousand.  It  must  be  confessed,  this  is  devotion  made  easy, 
in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  the  modern  time,  which  is 
not  exactly  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  but  "  likes  all  things 
comfortable  " — even  religion. 

But  my  object  was  not  to  ridicule,  but  to  observe.  If  I  did 
not  go  as  a  pilgrim,  on  the  one  hand,  neither  was  it  merely 
as  a  travelling  correspondent,  aiming  only  at  a  sensational 


88  GOING    ON   A   PILGRIMAGE. 

description.  If  I  did  not  go  in  a  spirit  of  faith,  it  was  at 
least  in  a  spirit  of  candor,  to  observe  and  report  things 
exactly  as  I  saw  them. 

But  how  was  I  to  reach  one  of  these  holy  shrines  ?  They 
are  a  long  way  off.  The  grotto  of  Lourdes,  where  the  Holy 
Virgin  is  said  to  have  appeared  to  a  girl  of  the  country,  is  in 
the  Pyrenees ;  while  Paray-le-Monial  is  nearly  three  hundred 
miles  southeast  from  Paris.  However,  it  is  not  very  far 
aside  from  the  route  to  Switzerland,  and  so  we  took  it  on 
our  way  to  Geneva,  resting  over  a  day  at  Macon  for  the  pur- 
pose. 

It  was  a  bright  summer  morning  when  we  started  from 
Macon,  and  wound  our  way  among  the  vine-clad  hills  of  the 
ancient  province  of  Burgundy.  It  is  a  picturesque  country. 
Old  chateaux  hang  upon  the  sides,  or  crown  the  summits  of 
the  hills,  while  quaint  little  villages  nestle  at  their  foot.  In 
yonder  village  was  born  the  poet  and  statesman,  Lamartine. 
We  can  see  in  passing  the  chateau  where  he  lived,  and  here, 
"  after  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well."  All  these  sunny 
slopes  are  covered  with  vineyards,  which  are  now  smiling  in 
their  summer  dress.  I  do  not  wonder  that  pilgrims,  as  they 
enter  this  "  hill-country,"  are  often  reminded  of  Palestine. 
Three  hours  brought  us  to  Paray-le-Monial,  a  little  town  of 
three  or  four  thousand  inhabitants — just  like  hundreds  of 
others  in  France,  with  nothing  to  attract  attention,  except 
the  marvellous  tradition  which  has  given  it  a  sudden  and 
universal  celebrity,  and  which  causes  devout  Catholics  to 
approach  it  with  a  feeling  of  reverence. 

The  story  of  the  place  is  this  :  In  the  little  town  is  a  con- 
vent, which  has  been  standing  for  generations.  Here,  two 
hundred  years  ago,  lived  a  nun,  whose  name  was  Marguerite 
Marie  Alacoque,  who  was  eminent  for  her  piety,  who  spent  a 
great  part  of  her  life  in  prayer,  and  whose  devotion  was  at 
length  rewarded  by  the  personal  appearance  of  our  Lord, 
who  opened  to  her  his  bosom,  and  showed  her  his  heart  burn- 


GOING   ON   A   PILGRIMAGE.  89 

ing  with  love  for  men,  and  bade  her  devote  herself  to  the 
worship  of  that  "  sacred  heart " !  These  visitations  were 
very  frequent.  Some  of  them  were  in  the  chapel,  and  some 
in  the  garden  attached  to  the  convent.  The  latter  is  not 
open  to  visitors,  the  Pope  having  issued  an  order  that  the 
privacy  of  the  religieuses  should  be  respected.  But  a  church 
near  by  overlooks  it,  and  whoever  will  take  the  fatigue  to 
climb  to  the  top,  may  look  down  into  the  forbidden  place. 
As  we  were  determined  to  see  everything,  we  mounted  all 
the  winding  stone  steps  in  the  tower,  from  which  the  keeper 
pointed  out  to  us  the  very  spot  where  our  Saviour  appeared  to 
the  Bienheureuse,  as  he  called  her.  In  a  clump  of  small  trees 
are  two  statues,  one  of  the  Lord  himself,  and  the  other  of 
the  nun  on  her  knees,  as  she  instantly  sank  to  the  ground 
when  she  recognized  before  her  the  Majesty  of  her  blessed 
Lord.  There  is  another  place  in  the  garden  where  also  she 
beheld  the  same  heavenly  vision.  Sometimes  the  "  Seigneur  " 
appeared  to  her  unattended ;  at  others  he  was  accompanied 
by  angels  and  seraphim. 

It  is  a  little  remarkable  that  this  wonderful  fact  of  the 
personal  appearance  of  Christ,  though  it  occurred,  according 
to  the  tradition,  two  hundred  years  ago,  did  not  attract  more 
attention ;  that  it  was  neglected  even  by  Catholic  historians, 
until  twelve  years  since— in  1863 — when  (as  a  part  of  a 
general  movement  "  all  along  the  line  "  to  revive  the  decay- 
ing faith  of  France)  the  marvellous  story  of  this  long 
neglected  saint  was  revived,  and  brought  to  the  notice  and 
adoration  of  the  religious  world. 

But  let  not  cold  criticism  come  in  to  mar  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  what  we  have  come  so  far  to  see.  The  principal 
visitations  were  not  in  the  garden  but  in  the  chapel  of  the 
convent,  which  on  that  account  bears  the  name  of  the  Chapel 
of  the  Visitation.  Here  is  the  tomb  which  contains  the  body 
of  the  sainted  nun,  an  image  of  whom  in  wax  lies  above  it 
under  a  glass  case,  dressed  in  the  robe  of  her  order,  with  a 


90  GOING    ON   A   PILGRIMAGE. 

crown  on  her  head,  to  bring  before  the  imagination  of  the 
faithful  the  presence  of  her  at  whose  shrine  they  worship. 
The  chapel  is  separated  from  the  convent  by  a  large  grating, 
behind  which  the  nuns  can  be  hidden  and  yet  hear  the  ser- 
vice, and  chant  their  offices.  There  it  was,  so  it  is  said, 
behind  that  grate,  while  in  an  ecstasy  of  prayer,  that  our 
Saviour  first  appeared  to  the  gaze  of  the  enraptured  nun. 
The  grate  is  now  literally  covered  with  golden  hearts,  the 
offerings  of  the  faithful.  Similar  gifts  hang  over  the  altar, 
while  gilded  banners  and  other  votive  offerings  cover  the 
walls. 

As  we  entered  the  chapel,  it  was  evident  that  we  were  in 
what  was  to  many  a  holy  place.  At  the  moment  there  was  no 
service  going  on,  but  some  were  engaged  in  silent  meditation 
and  prayer.  We  seemed  to  be  the  only  persons  present  from 
curiosity.  All  around  us  were  absorbed  in  devotion.  We 
sat  a  long  time  in  silence,  musing  on  the  strange  scene, 
unwilling  to  disturb  even  by  a  whisper  the  stillness  of  the 
place,  or  the  thoughts  of  those  who  had  come  to  worship. 
At  three  o'clock  the  nuns  began  to  sing  their  offices.  But 
they  did  not  show  themselves.  There  are  other  Sisters,  who 
have  the  care  of  the  chapel,  and  who  come  in  to  trim  the 
candles  before  the  shrine,  but  the  nuns  proper  live  a  life 
of  entire  seclusion,  never  being  seen  by  any  one.  Only  their 
voices  are  heard.  Nothing  could  be  more  plaintive  than  their 
low  chanting,  as  it  issued  from  behind  the  bars  of  their 
prison  house,  and  seemed  to  come  from  a  distance.  There, 
hidden  from  the  eyes  of  all,  sat  that  invisible  choir,  and  sang 
strains  as  soft  as  those  which  floated  over  the  shepherds  of 
Bethlehem.  As  an  accompaniment  to  the  scene  in  the 
chapel,  nothing  could  be  more  effective  ;  it  was  well  fitted  to 
touch  the  imagination,  as  also  when  the  priest  intoned  the 
service  in  the  dim  light  of  this  little  church,  with  its  censers 
swinging  with  incense,  and  its  ever-burning  lamps. 

The  walls  of  the  chapel  are  covered  with   banners,  some 


GOING   ON   A    PILGRIMAGE.  91 

from  other  countries,  but  most  from  France,  and  here  it  is 
easy  to"  see  how  the  patriotic  feeling  mingles  with  the  reli- 
gious. Here  and  there  may  be  seen  the  image  of  the  sacred 
heart  with  a  purely  religious  inscription,  such  as  Void  le 
cceur  qui  a  tant  aime  les  homines  (here  is  the  heart  which  has 
so  loved  men) ;  but  much  more  often  it  is,  Cozur  de  Jesus, 
Sauvez  la  France  !  This  idea  in  some  form  constantly 
reappears,  and  one  cannot  help  thinking  that  this  sudden  out- 
burst of  religious  zeal  has  been  greatly  intensified  by  the 
disasters  of  the  German  war ;  that  for  the  first  time  French 
armies  beaten  in  the  field,  have  resorted  to  prayer ;  that  they 
fly  to  the  Holy  Virgin,  and  to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus  to 
implore  the  protection  which  their  own  arms  could  not  give. 
Hung  in  conspicuous  places  on  columns  beside  the  chancel  are 
banners  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine,  covered  with  crape,  the 
former  with  a  cross  in  the  centre,  encircled  with  the  words 
first  written  in  the  sky  before  the  adoring  eyes  of  Constan- 
tine  :  In  hoc  signo  vinces  ;  while  for  Lorraine  stands  only 
the  single  name  of  Metz,  invested  with  such  sad  associations, 
with  the  inscription,  Sacre"  cceur  de  Jesus,  Sauvez  la 
France ! 

There  is  no  doubt  that  these  pilgrimages  have  been 
encouraged  by  French  politicians,  as  a  means  of  reviving  and 
inflaming  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people,  not  only  for  the  old 
Catholic  faith,  but  for  the  old  Catholic  monarchy.  Of  the 
tens  of  thousands  who  flock  to  these  shrines,  there  are  few 
who  are  not  strong  Legitimists.  On  the  walls  of  the  chapel 
the  most  glittering  banner  is  that  of  Henri  de  Bourbon, 
which  is  the  name  by  which  the  Comte  de  Chambord  chooses 
to  be  known  as  the  representative  of  the  old  royal  race.  Not 
to  be  outdone  in  pious  zeal,  Marshal  MacMahon,  who  is  a 
devout  Catholic — and  his  wife  still  more  so — has  also  sent  a 
banner  to  Faray-le-Monial,  but  it  is  not  displayed  with  the 
same  ostentation.  The  Legitimists  have  no  wish  to  keep  his 
name   too   much    before   the   French   people.     He   is  well 


92  GOING    ON   A   PILGRIMAGE. 

enough  as  a  temporary  head  of  the  State  till  the  rightful 
sovereign  comes,  but  when  Henri  de  Bourbon  appears,  they 
want  no  u  Marshal-President"  to  stand  in  his  way  as  he 
ascends  the  throne  of  his  ancestors. 

Thus  excited  by  a  strange  mixture  of  religious  zeal  and 
political  enthusiasm,  France  pours  its  multitudes  annually  to 
these  shrines  of  Lourdes  and  Paray-le-Monial.  We  were  too 
late  for  the  rush  this  year — the  season  was  just  over ;  for 
there  is  a  season  for  going  on  pilgrimages  as  for  going  to 
watering-places,  and  June  is  the  month  in  which  they  come 
in  the  greatest  numbers.  There  have  been  as  many  as  twenty 
thousand  in  one  day.  On  the  16th  of  June — which  was  a 
special  occasion — the  crowd  was  so  great  that  Mass  was  begun 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  repeated  without  ceasing 
till  noon,  the  worshippers  retiring  at  the  end  of  every  half 
hour,  that  a  new  throng  might  take  their  places.  Thus 
successive  pilgrims  press  forward  to  the  holy  shrine,  and  go 
away  with  an  elated,  almost  ecstatic  feeling,  that  they  have 
left  their  sins  and  their  sorrows  at  the  tomb  of  the  now  sainted 
and  glorified  nun. 

What  shall  we  say  to  this  ?  That  it  is  all  nonsense — 
folly,  born  of  fanaticism  and  superstition  ?  Medical  men  will 
have  an  easy  way  of  disposing  of  this  nun  and  her  visions,  by 
saying  that  she  was  simply  a  crazy  woman  ;  that  nothing  is 
more  common  than  these  fancies  of  a  distempered  imagina- 
tion ;  that  such  cases  may  be  found  in  every  lunatic  asylum; 
that  hysterical  women  often  think  that  they  have  seen  the 
Saviour,  &c.  Such  is  a  very  natural  explanation  of  this 
singular  phenomenon.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
this  nun  was  a  designing  woman,  that  she  intended  to 
deceive.  People  who  have  visions  are  the  sincerest  of 
human  beings.  They  have  unbounded  faith  in  themselves, 
and  think  it  strange  that  an  unbelieving  world  does  not  give 
the  same  credit  to  their  revelations. 

From  .all  that  I  have  read  of  this  Marie  Alacoque,  I  am 


GOING    ON   A    PILGRIMAGE.  93 

quite  ready  to  believe  that  she  was  indeed  a  very  devout 
woman,  who,  buried  in  that  living  tomb,  a  convent,  praving 
and  fasting,  worked  herself  into  such  a  fever  of  excitement, 
that  she  thought  the  Saviour  came  down  into  the  garden,  and 
into  the  chapel ;  that  she  saw  his  form  and  heard  his  voice. 
To  her  it  was  all  a  living  reality.  But  that  her  simple  state- 
ment, supported  by  no  other  evidence,  should  be  gravely  ac- 
cepted in  this  nineteenth  century  by  men  who  are  supposed 
to  be  still  in  the  possession  of  sober  reason,  is  one  of  the 
strange  things  which  it  would  be  impossible  to  believe,  were 
it  not  that  I  have  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,  and  which  is 
one  more  proof  that  wonders  will  never  cease. 

But  sincerity  of  faith  always  commands  a  certain  respect, 
even  when  coupled  with  ignorance  and  superstition.  If  this 
shows  an  extreme  of  credulity  absolutely  pitiful,  yet  we  must 
consider  it  not  as  we  look  at  it,  but  as  these  devout  pilgrims 
regard  it.  To  them  this  spot  is  one  of  the  holy  places  of  the 
world,  for  here  they  believe  the  Incarnate  Divinity  descended 
to  the  earth  ;  they  believe  that  this  garden  has  been  touched 
by  His  blessed  feet ;  and  that  this  little  chapel,  so  honored 
in  the  past,  is  still  filled  with  the  presence  of  Him  who  once 
was  here,  but  is  now  ascended  up  far  above  all  heavens. 
And  hence  this  Paray-le-Monial  in  their  minds  is  invested 
with  the  same  sacred  associations  with  which  we  regard 
Nazareth  and  Bethlehem. 

But  with  every  disposition  to  look  upon  these  manifesta- 
tions in  the  most  indulgent  light,  it  is  impossible  not  to  feel 
that  there  is  something  very  French  in  this  way  of  attempt- 
ing to  revive  the  faith  of  a  great  nation.  Among  this  peo- 
ple everything  seems  to  have  a  touch  of  the  theatrical — even 
in  their  religion  there  is  frequently  more  of  show  than  of 
conviction.  Thus  this  new  worship  is  not  addressed  to  the 
name  of  our  Saviour,  but  to  His  "  sacred  heart "  !  There  is 
something  in  that  image  which  seems  to  take  captive  the 
French  imagination.     The  very  words  have  a  rich  and  mel- 


94  GOING    ON   A   PILGRIMAGE. 

low  sound.  And  so  the  attempt  which  was  begun  in  an 
obscure  village  of  Burgundy,  is  now  proclaimed  in  Paris  and 
throughout  the  kingdom,  to  dedicate  France  to  the  sacred 
heart  of  Jesus. 

This  peculiar  form  of  worship  is  the  new  religious  fashion. 
A  few  weeks  since  an  imposing  service  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  Paris.  A  procession  of  bishops  and  priests,  followed 
by  great  numbers  of  the  faithful,  wound  through  the  streets, 
up  to  the  heights  of  Montmartre,  there  to  lay,  with  solemn 
ceremonies,  the  corner-stone  of  a  new  church  dedicated  to  the 
sacred  heart.  We  drove  to  the  spot,  which  is  the  highest  in 
the  whole  circle  of  Paris,  and  which  overlooks  it  almost  as 
Edinburgh  Castle  overlooks  that  city.  There  one  looks  down 
on  the  habitations  of  two  millions  of  people.  A  church 
erected  on  that  height,  with  its  golden  cross  lifted  into  mid- 
heaven,  would  seem  like  a  banner  in  the  sky,  to  hold  up  be- 
fore this  unbelieving  people  an  everlasting  sign  of  the  faith. 

But  though  the  Romish  Church  should  consecrate  ever  so 
many  shrines ;  though  it  build  churches  and  cathedrals,  and 
rear  its  naming  crosses  on  every  hill  and  mountain  from  the 
Alps  to  the  Pyrenees ;  it  is  not  thus  that  religion  is  to  be  en- 
throned in  the  hearts  of  a  nation.  The  fact  is  not  to  be  dis- 
guised that  France  has  fallen  away  from  the  faith.  It  looks 
on  at  all  these  attempts  with  indifference,  or  with  an  amused 
curiosity.  If  popular  writers  notice  them  at  all,  it  is  to  make 
them  an  object  of  ridicule.  At  one  of  the  Paris  theatres  an 
actor  appears  dressed  as  a  Brahmin,  and  offers  to  swear  "  by 
the  sacred  heart  of  a  cow  "  (that  being  a  sacred  animal  in 
India).  The  hit  is  caught  at  once  by  the  audience,  who 
answer  it  with  applause.  It  is  thus  that  the  populace  of 
Paris  sneer  at  the  new  superstition. 

Would  to  God  that  France  might  be  speedily  recovered  to 
a  true  Christian  faith ;  but  it  is  not  to  be  by  any  such  fantastic 
tricks  or  theatrical  devices,  by  shows  or  processions,  by 
gilded  ."rosses  or  waving  banners,  or  by  going  on  pilgrimages 


GOING    ON  A   PILGRIMAGE.  95 

as  in  the  days  of  the  Crusades.  Even  the  Catholic  Church 
has  more  efficient  instruments  at  command.  The  Sisters  of 
Charity  in  hospitals  are  far  more  effective  missionaries  than 
nuns  behind  the  bars  of  a  convent,  singing  hymns  to  the  Vir- 
gin, or  lamps  burning  before  the  shrine  of  a  saint  dead  hun- 
dreds of  years  ago.  If  France  is  ever  to  be  brought  back  to 
the  faith,  it  must  be  by  arguments  addressed  to  the  under- 
standing, which  shall  meet  the  objections  of  modern  science 
and  philosophy  ;  and,  above  all,  by  living  examples  of  its 
power.  If  Religion  is  to  conquer  the  modern  world ;  if  it 
is  even  to  keep  its  present  hold  among  the  nations,  it  must 
be  brought  into  contact  with  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the 
people  as  never  before  ;  it  must  grapple  with  the  problems  of 
modern  society,  with  poverty  and  misery  in  all  its  forms. 
Especially  in  the  great  capitals  of  Europe  it  has  its  hardest 
field,  and  there  it  must  go  into  all  the  narrow  lanes  and 
miserable  dwellings,  it  must  minister  to  the  sick,  and  clothe 
the  naked  and  feed  the  hungry.  France  will  never  be  con- 
verted merely  by  dramatic  exhibitions,  that  touch  the  imagi- 
nation. It  must  be  by  something  that  can  touch  the  con- 
science and  the  heart.  Thus  only  can  the  heart  of  France 
ever  be  won  to  "  the  sacred  heart  of  Jesus." 


96         UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC. 


CHAPTER  X. 

UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OP  MONT  BLANC. 

The  Vale  of  Chamouni,  July  15th. 

I  did  not  mean  fco  write  anything  about  Switzerland,  be- 
cause it  is  such  trodden  ground.  Almost  everybody  that  has 
been  in  Europe  has  been  here,  and  even  to  those  who  have 
not,  repeated  descriptions  have  made  it  familiar.  And  yet 
when  once  among  these  mountains,  the  impression  comes 
back  fresh  and  strong  as  ever,  and  while  the  spell  is  on  the 
traveller,  he  cannot  but  wish  to  impart  a  little  of  his  enjoy- 
ment to  friends  at  home. 

We  are  in  the  Yale  of  Chamouni,  under  the  shadow  of  Mont 
Blanc.  In  this  valley,  shut  in  by  the  encircling  mountains, 
one  cannot  escape  from  that  "  awful  form  "  any  more  than 
from  the  presence  of  God.  It  is  everywhere  day  and  night. 
We  throw  open  our  windows,  and  it  is  standing  right  before 
us.  Even  at  night  the  moonlight  is  glistening  on  its  eternal 
snows.  Thus  it  forces  itself  upon  us,  and  must  receive  re- 
spectful homage. 

We  left  Geneva  on  one  of  the  most  beautiful  mornings  of 
the  year.  There  has  been  great  lamentation  throughout 
Switzerland  this  summer,  on  account  of  the  frequent  rains, 
which  have  enveloped  the  mountains  in  a  continual  mist. 
But  we  have  been  favored  in  this  respect,  both  at  Geneva  and 
at  Chamouni.  To  set  out  on  a  mountain  excursion  on  such 
a  morning,  and  ride  on  the  top  of  a  diligence,  is  enough  to 
stir  the  blood  of  the  most  languid  tourist.  A  French  dili- 
gence is  a  monstrous  affair — a  kind  of  Noah's  Ark  on  wheels 


UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC.         97 

— that  carries  a  multitude  of  living  creatures.  We  had 
twenty-four  persons  (three  times  as  many  as  Noah  had  in  the 
Ark)  mounted  on  this  huge  vehicle,  to  which  were  harnessed 
six  horses,  three  abreast.  We  had  the  front  seat  on  the  top. 
In  such  grandeur  we  rolled  out  of  Geneva,  feeling  at  every 
step  the  exhilaration  of  the  mountain  air,  and  the  bright 
summer  morning.  The  postilion  was  in  his  glory.  How  he 
cracked  his  whip  as  we  rattled  through  the  little  Swiss  vil- 
lages, making  the  people  run  to  get  out  of  his  way,  and  stare 
in  wonder  at  the  tremendous  momentum  of  his  imperial 
equipage.  To  us,  who  sat  sublime  "  above  the  noise  and 
dust  of  this  dim  spot  called  earth,"  there  was  something  at 
once  exciting  and  ludicrous  in  the  commotion  we  made.  But 
there  were  other  occasions  for  satisfaction.  The  day  was 
divine.  The  country  around  Geneva  rises  from  the  lake,  and 
spreads  out  in  wide,  rolling  distances,  bordered  on  every  side 
by  the  great  mountains.  The  air  was  full  of  the  smell  of  new- 
mown  hay,  while  over  all  hung  the  bending  sky,  full  of  sun- 
shine. Thus  with  every  sense  keen  with  delight,  we  sat  on 
high  and  took  in  the  full  glory  of  the  scene,  as  we  swept  on 
towards  the  Alps. 

As  we  advance  the  mountains  close  in  around  us,  till  we 
cannot  see  where  we  are  to  find  a  passage  through  them. 
For  the  last  half  of  the  way  the  construction  of  the  road  has 
been  a  difficult  task  of  engineering ;  for  miles  it  has  to  be 
built  up  against  the  mountain ;  at  other  places  a  passage  is 
cut  in  the  side  of  the  cliff,  or  a  tunnel  made  through  the  rock. 
Yet  difficult  as  it  was,  the  work  has  been  thoroughly  done. 
It  was  completed  by  Napoleon  III. ,  aft^er  Savoy  was  annexed 
to  France,  and  is  worthy  to  compare  with  the  road  which  the 
first  Napoleon  built  over  the  Simplon.  Over  such  a  highway 
we  rolled  on  steadily  to  the  end  of  our  journey. 

And  now  we  are  in  the  Vale  of  Chamouni,  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  Alps,  under  the  shadow  of  the  greatest  of  them 
all  : 

5 


98         UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC. 

4 '  Mont  Blanc  is  the  monarch  of  mountains  ; 
They  crowned  him  long  ago 
On  a  throne  of  rocks,  in  a  robe  of  clouds, 
With  a  diadem  of  snow." 

Once  in  the  valley,  we  can  hardly  turn  aside  our  eyes  from 
that  overpowering  object.  We  keep  looking  up  at  that 
mighty  dome,  which  seems  to  touch  the  sky.  Fortunately 
for  us,  there  was  no  cloud  about  the  throne.  Like  other 
monarchs,  he  is  somewhat  fitful  and  capricious,  often  hiding 
his  royal  head  from  the  sight  of  his  worshippers.  Many  per- 
sons come  to  Chamouni,  and  do  not  see  Mont  Blanc  at  all. 
Sometimes  they  wait  for  days  for  an  audience  of  his  majesty, 
without  success.  But  he  favored  us  at  once  with  the  sight  of 
his  imperial  countenance.  Glorious  was  it  to  behold  him  as 
he  shone  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  And  when  even- 
ing drew  on,  the  moon  hung  above  that  lofty  summit,  as  if 
unwilling  to  leave.  As  she  declined  towards  the  west,  she  did 
not  disappear  at  once  ;  but  as  the  mountains  themselves  sank 
away  from  the  height  of  Mont  Blanc,  the  moon  seemed  to 
glide  slowly  down  the  descending  slope,  setting  and  reappear- 
ing, and  touching  the  whole  with  her  silver  radiance. 

But  sunset  and  moonlight  were  both  less  impressive  than 
sunrise.  Remembering  Coleridge's  "  Hymn  to  Mont  Blanc," 
which  is  supposed  to  be  written  "  before  sunrise  in  the  Vale 
of  Chamouni,"  we  were  up  in  the  morning  to  catch  the  earli- 
est dawn.  It  was  long  in  coming.  At  first  a  few  faint  streaks 
of  light  shot  up  the  eastern  sky  ;  then  a  rosy  tinge  flushed  the 
head  of  Mont  Blanc  ;  then  other  snowy  summits  caught  the 
golden  glow  ;  till  a  hundred  splintered  peaks,  that  formed  a 
part  of  the  mighty  range,  reflected  the  light  of  coming  day, 
and  at  last  the  full  orb  himself  rose  above  the  tops  of  the 
mountains,  and  shone  down  into  the  valley. 

Of  course  all  visitors  to  Chamouni  have  to  climb  some  of 
the  lower  mountains  to  see  the  glaciers,  and  get  a  general 
view  of  the  chain  of  Mont  Blanc.     My  companion  was  ambi- 


UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC.  99 

tious  to  do  something  more  than  this.  She  is  a  very  good 
walker  and  climber,  and  had  taken  many  long  tramps  among 
our  Berkshire  Hills,  and  to  her  Mont  Blanc  did  not  seem 
much  more  than  Monument  Mountain.  In  truth,  the  eye  is 
deceived  in  judging  of  these  tremendous  heights,  and  cannot 
take  in  at  first  the  real  elevation.  But  when  they  are  accu- 
rately measured,  Mont  Blanc  is  found  to  be  about  twenty 
times  as  high  as  the  cliff  which  overlooks  our  Housatonic 
Valley  !  But  a  young  enthusiast  feels  equal  to  anything,  and 
she  seemed  really  quite  disappointed  that  she  could  not  at 
least  go  as  far  as  the  Grands  Mulets  (where,  with  a  telescope, 
we  can  just  see  a  little  cabin  on  the  rocks),  which  is  the  limit 
of  the  first  day's  journey  for  adventurous  tourists,  most  of 
whom  do  not  get  any  further.  A  party  that  went  up  yester- 
day, intending  to  reach  the  top  of  Mont  Blanc,  had  to  turn 
back.  A  recent  fall  of  snow  had  buried  the  mountain,  so 
that  they  sank  deep  at  every  step ;  and  finding  it  dangerous 
to  proceed,  they  prudently  abandoned  the  attempt. 

The  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,  at  all  times  difficult,  is  often  a 
dangerous  undertaking.  Many  adventurous  travellers  have 
lost  their  lives  in  the  attempt.  An  avalanche  may  bury  a 
whole  party  in  a  moment;  or  if  lashed  to  the  guides  by  a 
rope,  one  slipping  may  drag  the  whole  down  into  one  of  the 
enormous  crevasses,  where  now  many  bodies  lie  unburied, 
yet  preserved  from  decay  in  the  eternal  ice.  Only  five  years 
ago,  in  September,  1870,  a  party  of  eleven — three  tourists 
(of  whom  two  were  Americans),  with  eight  guides  and  por- 
ters— were  all  lost.  They  had  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
summit  of  the  mountain,  when  a  snow-storm  came  on,  and  it 
was  impossible  for  them  to  descend.  The  body  of  one  of  them, 
Dr.  Bean,  of  Baltimore,  was  recovered,  and  is  buried  in  the 
little  graveyard  here.  With  such  warnings,  a  sober  old  uncle 
might  be  excused  for  restraining  a  young  lady's  impetuosity. 
If  we  could  be  here  a  month,  and  "  go  into  training,"  by  long 
walks  a. id  climbs  every  day,  I  do  believe  we  should  gradually 


100        UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC. 

work  our  courage  up  to  the  sticking-point,  and  at  last  climb 
to  the  top,  and  plant  a  very  modest  American  flag  on  the 
hoary  head  of  Mont  Blanc. 

But  for  the  present  we  must  be  3ontent  with  a  less  ambi- 
tious performance,  and  make  only  the  customary  ascent  of 
the  Montanvert,  and  cross  the  Mer  de  Glace.  We  left  at 
eight  o'clock  yesterday  morning.  Our  friends  in  New  York 
would  hardly  have  recognized  me  in  my  travelling  dress  of 
Scotch  gray,  with  a  slouched  straw  hat  on  my  head,  and  an 
alpenstock  in  my  hand.  The  hat  was  very  useful,  if  not 
ornamental.  I  bought  it  for  one  franc,  and  it  answered  as 
well  as  if  it  had  cost  a  guinea.  To  be  sure,  as  it  had  a  broad 
brim,  it  had  a  slight  tendency  to  take  wings  and  fly  away, 
and  light  in  some  mountain  torrent,  from  which  it  was 
speared  out  with  the  alpenstock,  and  restored  to  its  place  of 
honor ;  but  it  did  excellent  service  in  protecting  my  eyes 

from  the  blinding  reflection  of  the  snow.    C was  mounted 

on  a  mule,  which  she  had  at  first  refused,  preferring  her  own 
agile  feet ;  but  I  insisted  on  it,  as  a  very  useful  beast  to  fall 
back  upon  in  case  the  fatigue  was  too  great.  Thus  accoutred, 
our  little  cavalcade,  with  our  guide  leading  the  way,  filed  out 
of  Chamouni.  If  any  of  my  readers  laugh  at  our  droll  appear- 
ance, they  are  quite  welcome — for  we  laughed  at  ourselves. 
Comfort  is  worth  more  than  dignity  in  such  a  case  ;  and  if 
anybody  is  abashed  at  the  ludicrous  figure  he  cuts,  he  may 
console  himself  by  reflecting  that  he  is  in  good  company.  I 
saw  in  Paris  the  famous  picture  by  David  of  Napoleon  cross- 
ing the  Alps,  which  represents  him  mounted  on  a  gallant 
charger,  his  military  cloak  flying  in  the  air,  while  he  points 
his  soldiers  upward  to  the  heights  they  are  to  scale.  This  is 
very  fine  to  look  at ;  but  the  historical  fact  is  said  to  be  that 
Napoleon  rode  over  the  Alps  on  a  mule,  and  if  he  encountered 
rains  and  -storms,  he  was  no  doubt  as  bedraggled  as  any 
Alpine  tourist.  But  that  did  not  prevent  his  gaining  the 
battle  of  Marengo. 


UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC.        101 

But  all  thoughts  of  our  appearance  vanish  when  once  we 
begin  to  climb  the  mountain  side.  For  two  hours  we  kept 
winding  in  a  zigzag  path  through  the  perpetual  pine  forest. 
At  every  turn  in  the  road,  or  opening  in  the  trees,  we 
stopped  to  look  at  the  valley  below,  where  the  objects  grew 
smaller,  as  we  receded  further  from  them.  Is  it  not  so  in 
life  ?  As  some  one  has  said,  "  Everything  will  look  small 
enough  if  we  only  get  high  enough."  All  rude  noises  died 
away  in  the  distance,  till  there  rose  into  the  upper  air  only 
the  sound  of  the  streams  that  were  rushing  through  the  val- 
ley below. 

At  a  chalet  half  way  up  the  mountain  a  living  chamois  was 
kept  for  show.  It  was  very  young,  and  was  suckled  by  a 
goat.  It  was  touching  to  see  how  the  little  creature  pined 
for  freedom,  and  leaped  against  the  sides  of  his  pen.  Child 
of  the  mountain,  he  seemed  entitled  to  liberty,  and  I  longed 
to  break  open  his  cage  and  set  the  little  prisoner  free,  and 
see  him  bound  away  upon  the  mountain  side. 

Climbing,  still  climbing,  another  hour  brings  us  to  the  top 
of  the  Montanvert,  where  we  look  down  upon  the  Mer  de 
Glace.  Here  all  the  party  quit  their  mules,  which  are  sent 
to  another  point,  to  meet  us  as  we  come  down  from  the 
mountain — and  taking  our  alpenstocks  in  hand  (which  are 
long  staffs,  with  a  spike  at  the  end  to  stick  in  the  ice,  to  keep 
ourselves  from  slipping),  we  descend  to  the  Mer  de  Glace,  an 
enormous  glacier  formed  by  the  masses  of  snow  and  ice  which 
collect  during  the  long  winters,  filling  up  the  whole  space 
between  two  mountains.  It  was  in  studying  the  glaciers  of 
Switzerland  for  a  course  of  years,  that  Agassiz  formed  his 
glacial  theory ;  and  in  seeing  here  how  the  steady  pressure 
of  such  enormous  masses  of  ice,  weighing  millions  of  tons, 
have  carried  down  huge  boulders  of  granite,  which  lie  strewn 
all  along  its  track,  one  can  judge  how  the  same  causes,  operat- 
ing at  a  remote  period,  and  on  a  vast  scale,  may  have  changed 
the  whole  surface  of  the  globe. 


102        UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC. 

But  we  must  not  stop  to  philosophize,  for  we  are  now 
just  at  the  edge  of  the  glacier,  and  need  our  wits  about  us, 
and  eyes  too,  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  dangerous  places, 
and  steady  feet,  and  hands  keeping  a  tight  hold  of  our  trusty 
alpenstocks.  The  Mer  de  Glace  is  just  what  its  name 
implies — a  Sea  of  Ice — and  looks  as  if,  when  some  wild  tor- 
rent came  tumbling  through  the  awful  pass,  it  had  been 
suddenly  stopped  by  the  hand  of  the  Almighty,  and  frozen  as 
it  stood.  And  so  it  stands,  its  waves  dashed  up  on  high,  and 
its  chasms  yawning  below.  It  is  said  to  reach  up  into  the 
mountains  for  miles.  We  can  see  how  it  goes  up  to  the  top 
of  the  gorge  and  disappears  on  the  other  side ;  but  those  who 
wish  to  explore  its  whole  extent,  may  walk  over  it  or  beside 
it  all  day.  Though  dangerous  in  some  places,  yet  where 
tourists  cross,  they  can  pick  their  way  with  a  little  care. 
The  more  timid  ones  cling  closely  to  the  guide,  holding  him 
fast  by  the  hand.  One  lady  of  our  party,  who  had  four 
bearers  to  carry  her  in  a  Sedan  chair,  found  her  head  swim 

as  she  crossed.     But  C ,  who  had  been  gathering  flowers 

all  the  way  up  the  mountain,  made  them  into  a  bouquet, 
which  she  fastened  to  one  end  of  her  alpenstock,  and  striking 
the  other  firmly  in  the  ice,  moved  on  with  as  free  a  step  as  if 
she  were  walking  along  some  breezy  path  among  our  Berk- 
shire Hills. 

But  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  course  is  not  in  crossing 
the  Mer  de  Glace,  but  in  coming  down  on  the  other  side.  It 
is  not  always  facilis  descensus  /  it  is  sometimes  difficilis 
descensus.  There  is  one  part  of  the  course  called  the  Mauvais 
Pas,  which  winds  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  would 
hardly  be  passable  but  for  an  iron  rod  fastened  in  the  side  of 
the  rock,  to  which  one  clings  for  support,  and  looking  away 
from  the  precipice  on  the  other  side,  makes  the  passage  in 
safety. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  Chapeau,  a  little  chalet  perched 
on  a  shelf  of  rock,  from  which  one  can  look  down  thousands  of 


UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC.        103 

feet  into  the  Vale  of  Chamouni.  As  we  pass  along  by  the 
side  of  the  glacier,  we  see  nearer  the  end  some  frightful  cre- 
vasses, which  the  boldest  guide  would  not  dare  to  cross.  The 
ice  is  constantly  wearing  away  ;  indeed  so  great  is  the  dis- 
charge of  water  from  the  melting  of  the  ice  and  the  snow, 
that  a  rapid  river  is  all  the  time  rushing  out  of  it.  The 
Arveiron  takes  its  rise  in  the  Mer  de  Glace,  while  the  Arve 
rises  in  another  glacier  higher  up  the  valley.  As  Coleridge 
says,  in  his  Hymn  to  Mont  Blanc, 

The  Arve  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 
Rave  ceaselessly ; 

the  sound  of  the  streams,  mingling  with  the  waterfalls  on  the 
sides  of  the  mountains,  filling  the  air  with  a  perpetual  sound 
like  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

Coleridge  speaks  also  of  Mont  Blanc  as  rising  from  a 
u  silent  sea  of  pines."  Nothing  can  be  more  accurate  than 
this  picture  of  the  universal  forest,  which  overflows  all  the 
valleys,  and  reaches  up  the  mountains,  to  the  edge  of  eternal 
snows.  At  such  heights  the  pines  are  the  only  trees  that 
live,  and  there  they  stand  through  all  the  storms  of  winter. 
Looking  around  on  this  landscape,  made  up  of  forest  and 
snow,  alternately  dark  and  bright,  it  seems  as  if  Mont  Blanc 
were  the  Great  White  Throne  of  the  Almighty,  and  as  if 
these  mighty  forests  that  stand  quivering  on  the  mountain 
side,  were  the  myriads  of  mankind  gathered  into  this  Valley 
of  Judgment,  and  here  standing  rank  on  rank,  waiting  to 
hear  their  doom. 

But  yet  the  impression  is  not  one  wholly  of  terror,  or  even 
of  unmixed  awe.  There  is  beauty  as  well  as  wildness  in 
the  scene.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  quiet  and  seclusion  of 
these  mountain  paths,  and  there  is  something  very  sweet  to 
the  ear  in 

"  The  murmuring  pines  and  the  hemlocks," 

which  fill  "  the  forest  primeval "  with  their  gentle  sound, 


104        UJDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC. 

And  when  at  evening  one  hears  the  tinkling  cow-bells,  as  the 
herds  return  from  the  mountain  pastures,  there  is  a  pastoral 
simplicity  in  the  scene  which  is  very  touching,  and  we  could 
understand  how  the  Swiss  air  of  the  lianz  des  Vetches  (or 
the  returning  of  the  cows)  should  awaken  such  a  feeling  of 
homesickness  in  the  soldier  far  from  his  native  mountains, 
that  bands  have  been  prohibited  from  playing  it  in  Swiss 
regiments  enlisted  in  foreign  armies. 

When  we  came  down  from  the  Mer  de  Glace,  it  was  not 
yet  three  o'clock,  and  before  us  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
valley  rose  another  mountain,  which  we  might  ascend  before 
night  if  we  had  strength  left.  We  felfc  a  little  remorse  at 
giving  the  guide  another  half  day's  work;  but  he,  foreseeing 
extra  pay,  said  cheerfully  that  he  could  stand  it ;  the  mule 
said  nothing,  but  pricked  up  his  long  ears  as  if  he  was  think- 
ing very  hard,  and  if  the  miracle  of  Balaam  could  have  been 
repeated,  I  think  the  poor  dumb  beast  would  have  had  a 
pretty  decided  opinion.  But  it  being  left  to  us,  we  declared 
for  a  fresh  ascent,  and  once  more  set  our  faces  skyward,  and 
went  climbing  upward  for  two  hours  more. 

We  were  well  paid  for  the  fatigue.  The  Flegere,  facing 
Mont  Blanc,  commands  a  full  view  of  the  whole  range,  and  as 
the  clouds  drifted  off,  we  saw  distinctly  every  peak. 

Thus  elated  and  jubilant  we  set  out  to  return.  Until 
now,  we  had  kept  along  with  the  mule,  alternating  a  ride 
and  walk,  as  boys  are  accustomed  to  "  ride  and  tie " ;  but 
now  our  eagerness  could  not  be  restrained,  and  we  gave  the 
reins  to  the  guide  to  lead  the  patient  creature  down  into  the 
valley,  while  we,  with  unfettered  limbs,  strode  joyous  down 
the  mountain  side.  It  was  seven  o'clock  when  we  reached 
our  hotel.  We  had  been  steadily  in  motion — except  a  short 
rest  for  1  -.inch  at  the  Chapeau  on  the  mountain — for  eleven 
hours. 

Here  ends  the  journey  of  the  day,  but  not  the  moral  of  it. 
I  hope  it  is  not  merely  a  professional  habit  that  leads  me  to 


UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC.        105 

wind  up  everything  with  an  application ;  but  I  cannot 
look  upon  a  grand  scene  of  nature  without  gliding  insensibly 
into  religious  reflections.  Nature  leads  me  directly  to 
Nature's  God.  The  late  Prof.  Albert  Hopkins,  of  Williams 
College,  of  blessed  memory,  a  man  of  science  and  yet  of 
most  devout  spirit,  who  was  as  fond  of  the  hills  as  a  born 
mountaineer,  and  who  loved  nothing  so  much  as  to  lead  his 
Alpine  Club  over  the  mountains  around  Williamstown — was 
accustomed,  when  he  had  conducted  them  to  some  high,  com- 
manding prospect,  to  ask  whether  the  sight  of  such  great 
scenes  made  them  feel  great  or  small?  I  can  answer  for  my- 
self that  the  impression  is  a  mixed  one ;  that  it  both  lifts 
me  up  and  casts  me  down.  Certainly  the  sight  of  such  sub- 
limity elevates  the  soul  with  a  sense  of  the  power  and  majesty 
of  the  Creator.  While  climbing  to-day,  I  have  often  repeated^ 
to  myself  that  old,  majestic  hymn  : 

I  sing  the  mighty  power  of  God, 
That  made  the  mountains  rise  ; 

and  another : 

'Tis  by  thy  strength  the  mountains  stand, 

God  of  eternal  power, 
The  sea  grows  calm  at  thy  command, 
And  tempests  cease  to  roar. 

But  in  another  view  the  sight  of  these  great  objects  of 
nature  is  depressing.  It  makes  one  feel  his  own  littleness 
and  insignificance.  I  look  up  at  Mont  Blanc  with  a  tele- 
scope, and  can  just  see  a  party  climbing  near  the  Grands 
Mulets.  How  like  creeping  insects  they  look  ;  and  how  like 
insects  they  are  in  the  duration  of  their  existence,  compared 
with  the  everlasting  forms  of  nature.  The  flying  clouds  that 
cast  their  shadows  on  the  head  of  Mont  Blanc  are  not  more 
fleeting.  They  pass  like  a  bird  and  are  gone,  while  the 
mountains  stand  fast  forever,  and  with  their  eternity  seem  to 
mock  the  fugitive  existence  of  man  upon  the  earth. 
6* 


106        UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC. 

I  confess  the  impression  is  very  depressing.  These  terrible 
mountains  crush  me  with  their  awful  weight.  They  make 
me  feel  that  I  am  but  an  atom  in  the  universe  ;  a  moth 
whose  ceasing  to  exist  would  be  no  more  than  the  blowing 
out  of  a  candle.  And  I  am  not  surprised  that  men  who  live 
among  the  mountains,  are  sometimes  so  overwhelmed  with 
the  greatness  of  nature,  that  they  are  ready  to  acquiesce  in 
their  own  annihilation,  or  absorption  in  the  universal  being. 

Talking  with  Father  Hyacinthe  the  other  evening  (as  we 
sat  on  the  terrace  of  the  Hotel  Beau  Rivage  at  Geneva, 
overlooking  the  lake),  he  spoke  of  the  alarming  spread  of  un- 
belief in  Europe,  and  quoted  a  distinguished  professor  of 
Zurich,  of  whom  he  spoke  with  great  respect,  as  a  man  of 
learning  and  of  excellent  character,  who  had  frankly  con- 
fessed to  him  that  he  did  not  believe  in  the  immortality  of 
the  soul ;  and  when  Father  Hyacinthe  replied  in  amazement, 
"  If  I  believed  thus  I  would  go  and  throw  myself  into  the 
Lake  of  Zurich,"  the  professor  answered  with  the  utmost 
seriousness,  "  That  is  not  a  just  religious  feeling;  if  you  be- 
lieve in  God  as  an  infinite  Creator  you  ought  to  be  willing 
to  cease  to  exist,  feeling  that  God  is  the  only  Being  who  is 
worthy  to  live  eternally." 

Marvellous  as  this  may  seem,  yet  something  of  this  feeling 
comes  to  thoughtful  and  serious  minds  from  the  long  and 
steadfast  contemplation  of  nature.  One  is  so  little  in  the 
presence  of  the  works  of  God,  that  he  feels  that  he  is  absolute- 
ly nothing  y  and  it  seems  of  small  moment  whether  he  should 
exist  hereafter  or  not ;  and  he  could  almost  be  willing  that 
his  life  should  expire,  like  a  lamp  that  has  burned  itself  out ; 
that  he  should  indeed  cease  to  exist,  with  all  things  that  live ; 
that  God  might  be  God  alone.  If  shut  up  in  these  moun- 
tains, as  in  a  prison  from  which  I  could  not  escape,  I  could 
easily  sink  into  this  gloom  and  despondency. 

Pascal  has  tried  to  break  the  force  of  this  overwhelming 
impi  ession  of  the  awfulness  of  nature  in  one  of  his  most  Strik- 


UNDER    THE    SIIADOW    OF    MONT    BLANC.  107 

ing  thoughts,  when,  speaking  of  the  greatness  and  the  little- 
ness of  man,  he  says  :  a  It  is  not  necessary  for  the  whole 
universe  to  arm  itself  to  destroy  him  :  a  drop  of  water,  a 
breath  of  air,  is  sufficient  to  kill  him.  And  yet  even  in  death 
man  is  greater  than  the  universe,  for  he  knovjs  that  he  is  dying, 
while  the  universe  knows  not  anything."  This  is  finely 
expressed,  but  it  does  not  lighten  the  depth  of  our  despair. 
For  that  we  must  turn  to  one  greater  than  Pascal,  who  has 
said,  "  Not  a  sparrow  falleth  to  the  ground  without  your 
Father ;  be  of  good  cheer  therefore,  ye  are  of  more  value  than 
many  sparrows."     Nature  is  great,  but  God  is  greater. 

In  riding  through  the  Alps — especially  through  deep 
passes,  where  walls  of  rock  on  either  hand  almost  touch  the 
sky — it  seems  as  if  the  whole  world  were  a  realm  of  Death, 
and  this  the  universal  tomb.  But  even  here  I  see  erected  on 
almost  every  hilltop  a  cross  (for  the  Savoyards  are  a  very 
religious  people),  and  this  sign  of  our  salvation,  standing  on 
every  high  place,  amid  the  lightning  and  storm,  and  amid  the 
winter  snows,  seems  to  be  a  protest  against  that  law  of  death 
which  reigns  on  every  side.  Great  indeed  is  the  realm  of 
Death,  but  greater  still  is  the  realm  of  Life  ;  and  though  God 
only  hath  immortality,  and  is  indeed  "  the  only  Being  worthy 
to  live  forever,"  yet  joined  to  Him,  we  shall  have  a  part  in 
His  own  eternity,  and  shall  live  when  even  the  everlasting 
mountains,  and  the  great  globe  itself,  shall  have  passed  away. 


108  SWITZERLAND. 


CHAPTER  XL 

SWITZERLAND. 

Ltjcebnb,  Jnly  22d. 

To  know  Switzerland  well,  one  should  spend  weeks  and 
months  among  its  lakes  and  mountains.  He  should  not 
merely  pay  a  formal  visit  to  Nature,  but  take  up  his  abode 
with  her.  One  can  never  "  exhaust "  such  a  country.  Profes- 
sor Tyndall  has  been  for  years  in  the  habit  of  spending  his 
summer  vacation  here,  and  always  finds  new  mountains  to 
climb,  and  new  passes  to  explore.  But  this  would  hardly 
suit  Americans,  who  are  in  the  habit  of  "  rushing  things," 
and  who  wish  in  a  first  visit  to  Europe,  to  get  at  least  a 
general  impression  of  the  Continent.  But  even  a  few  days 
in  Switzerland  are  not  lost.  In  that  time  one  may  see  sights 
that  will  be  fixed  in  his  brain  while  life  lasts,  and  receive 
impressions  that  will  never  depart  from  him. 

We  left  the  Vale  of  Chamouni  with  the  feeling  of  sadness 
with  which  one  always  comes  down  from  the  mount,  where 
he  has  had  an  immortal  vision.  Slowly  we  rode  up  the  val- 
ley, often  turning  to  take  a  last  lingering  look  at  the  white 
head  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  then,  like  Pilgrim,  we  "  went  on 
our  way  and  saw  him  no  more." 

But  we  did  not  come  out  of  Chamouni  as  we  went  into  it, 
on  the  top  of  a  diligence,  with  six  horses,  "  rolling  forward 
with  impetuous  speed  "  over  a  magnificent  highway.  We 
had  now  nothing  before  us  but  a  common  mountain-road, 
and  our  chariot  was  only  a  rude  wagon,  made  with  low 
wheels  to  go  up  and  down  steep  ascents.     It  was  only  for  us 


SWITZERLAND.  1 09 

two,  which  suited  us  the  better,  as  we  had  Nature  all  to  our- 
selves, and  could  indulge  our  pleasure  and  our  admiration 
without  restraint.  Thus  mounted,  we  went  creeping  up  the 
pass  of  the  Tete  Noire.  Nature  is  a  wise  economist,  and,  after 
showing  the  traveller  Mont  Blanc,  lets  him  down  gradually. 
If  we  had  not  come  from  those  more  awful  heights  and 
abysses,  we  should  consider  this  day's  ride  unsurpassed  in 
savage  grandeur.  Great  mountains  tower  up  on  either  hand, 
their  lower  sides  dark  with  pines,  and  their  crests  capped 
with  snow.  Here  by  the  roadside  a  cross  marks  the  spot 
where  an  avalanche,  falling  from  yonder  peak,  buried  two 
travellers.  At  some  seasons  of  the  year  the  road  is  almost 
impassable.  All  along  are  heaps  of  stones  to  mark  its  track 
where  the  winter  drifts  are  piled  so  high  in  these  gorges  that 
all  trace  of  a  path  is  lost.  Even  now  in  mid-summer  the 
pass  is  wild  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  romantic  tastes.  The 
day  was  in  harmony  with  the  scene.  Our  fine  weather 
was  all  gone.  Clouds  darkened  the  sky,  and  angry  gusts 
of  wind  and  rain  swept  in  our  faces.  But  what  could 
check  one's  spirits  let  loose  in  such  a  scene  ?  Often  we 
got  out  and  walked,  to  work  olf  our  expitement,  stopping 
at  every  turn  in  the  road  that  opened  some  new  view,  or 
sheltering  ourselves  under  a  rock  from  the  rain,  and  listening 
with  delight  to  hear  the  pines  murmur  and  the  torrents  roar. 
The  ride  over  the  Tete  Noire  takes  a  whole  day.  The  road 
zigzags  in  every  direction,  winding  here  and  there  to  get  a 
foothold — now  hugging  the  side  of  the  mountain,  creeping 
along  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  where  it  makes  one  dizzy  to 
look  down  ;  now  rounding  a  point  which  seems  to  hang  over 
some  awful  depth,  or  seeking  a  safer  path  by  a  tunnel  through 
the  rocks.  Up  and  down,  hither  and  thither  we  go,  but  still 
everywhere  encompassed  with  mountains,  till  at  last  one  long 
climb — a  hard  pull  for  the  horses — brings  us  to  a  height  from 
which  we  descry  in  the  distance  the  roofs  and  spires  of  a 
town,  and  begin  to  descend.     But  we  are  still  more  than  aD 


110  SWITZERLAND. 

hour  winding  our  way  through  the  gentle  slopes  and  among 
the  Swiss  chalets,  till  we  rattle  through  the  stony  streets  of 
Martigny,  a  place  of  some  importance,  from  being  at  the  foot 
of  the  Alps,  and  the  point  from  which  to  make  the  ascent  of 
the  Great  Saint  Bernard.  It  was  by  this  route  that  Napo- 
leon in  1800  led  his  daring  soldiers  over  the  Alps;  the  long 
lines  of  infantry  and  artillery  passed  up  this  valley,  and 
climbed  yonder  mountain  side,  a  hundred  men  being  har- 
nessed to  a  single  cannon,  and  dragging  it  upward  by  sheer 
strength  of  muscle.  Of  all  the  host  that  made  that  stupen- 
dous march,  perhaps  not  one  survives;  but  the  mountains 
are  still  here,  as  the  proof  and  the  monument  of  their  great 
achievement.  And  the  same  Hospice,  where  the  monks  gave 
bread  and  wine  to  the  passing  soldiers,  is  on  the  summit  still, 
and  the  good  monks  with  their  faithful  dogs,  watch  to  rescue 
lost  travellers.  Attached  to  it  is  a  monastery  here  in  Mar- 
tigny, to  which  the  old  monks,  when  worn  out  with  years  of 
exposure  and  hardship  in  living  above  the  clouds,  can  retire 
to  die  in  peace. 

At  Martigny  we  take  our  leave  of  mountain  roads  and 
mountain  transport,  as  we  here  touch  a  railroad,  and  are  once 
more  within  the  limits  of  civilization.  We  step  from  our 
little  wagon  (which  we  do  not  despise,  since  it  has  carried  us 
safely  over  an  Alpine  pass)  into  a  luxurious  railway  carriage, 
and  reclining  at  our  ease,  are  whirled  swiftly  down  the  Valley 
of  the  Rhone  to  the  Lake  of  Geneva. 

Of  course  all  romantic  tourists  stop  at  Villeneuve,  to  visit 
the  Castle  of  Chillon,  which  Byron  has  made  so  famous.  I 
l\ad  been  under  its  arches  and  in  its  vaulted  chambers  years 
ago,  and  was  surprised  at  the  fresh  interest  which  I  had  in 
revisiting  the  spot.  It  is  at  once  "  a  palace  and  a  prison." 
We  went  down  into  the  dungeon  in  which  Bonnivard  was 
confined,  and  saw  the  pillar  to  which  he  was  chained  for  so 
many  years  that  his  feet  wore  holes  in  the  stone  floor.  The 
pillar  is  now  covered  with  names  of  pilgrims  that  have  visited 


SWITZERLAND.  Ill 

his  prison  as  "a  holy  place."  We  were  shown,  also,  the 
Chamber  of  Question,  (adjoining  what  was  called,  as  if  in 
mockery,  the  Hall  of  Justice  !)  where  prisoners  were  put  to 
the  torture,  with  the  post  still  standing  to  which  they  were 
bound,  with  the  marks  upon  it  of  the  hot  irons  which  were 
applied  to  their  writhing  limbs.  Under  this  is  the  dungeon 
where  the  condemned  passed  their  last  night  before  execution, 
chained  to  a  sloping  rock,  above  which,  dimly  seen  in  the 
gloom,  is  the  cross-beam  to  which  they  were  hung,  and  near  the 
floor  is  an  opening  in  the  wall,  through  which  their  bodies 
were  cast  into  the  lake.  In  another  part  of  the  castle  is 
shown  the  oubliette — a  pit  or  well,  into  which  the  victim  was 
thrown,  and  fell  into  some  unknown  depth,  and  was  seen  no 
more.  Such  are  some  of  the  remains  of  an  age  of  "  chivalry." 
One  cannot  look  at  these  instruments  of  torture  without  a 
shudder  at  "  man's  inhumanity  to  man,"  and  rejoicing  that 
such  things  are  past,  since  in  no  country  of  Europe — not 
even  in  Spain,  the  land  of  the  Inquisition — could  such  bar- 
barities be  permitted  now.  Surely  civilization  has  made  some 
progress  since  those  ages  of  cruelty  and  blood. 

Leaving  these  gloomy  dungeons,  we  come  up  into  air  and 
sunshine,  and  skim  along  the  Lake  of  Geneva  by  the  railway, 
which,  lying  "  between  sea  and  shore,"  presents  a  succession 
of  charming  views.  On  one  side  all  the  slopes  are  covered 
with  vines,  which  are  placed  on  this  southern  exposure  to 
ripen  in  the  sun ;  on  the  other  is  the  lake,  with  the  moun- 
tains beyond. 

At  Lausanne  I  had  hoped  to  meet  an  old  friend,  Prof.  J. 
F.  Astie,  once  pastor  of  the  French  church  in  New  York, 
and  now  Professor  in  the  Theological  Seminary  here,  but  he 
was  taking  his  vacation  in  the  country.  We  drove,  however, 
to  his  house,  which  is  on  high  ground,  in  the  rear  of  the 
town,  and  commands  a  lovely  view  of  the  lake,  with  the 
mountains  in  the  distance  as  a  background  for  the  picture. 

When  I  was  in  Switzerland  twenty-seven  years  ago,  such 


1 1  2  SWITZERLAND. 

a  tiling  as  a  railroad  was  unknown.  Now  they  are  every- 
where, and  though  it  may  seem  very  prosaic  to  travel  among 
the  mountains  by  steam,  still  it  is  a  great  convenience,  in 
getting  from  one  point  to  another.  Of  course,  when  it  comes 
to  climbing  the  Alps,  one  must  take  to  mules  or  to  his 
feet. 

The  railroad  from  Lausanne  to  Berne,  after  reaching  the 
heights  around  the  former  city,  lingers  long,  as  if  reluctant 
to  quit  the  enchanting  scenery  around  the  lake,  but  at  length 
plunging  through  a  tunnel,  it  leaves  all  that  glory  behind,  to 
turn  to  other  landscapes  in  the  heart  of  Switzerland.  For  a 
few  leagues,  the  country,  though  not  mountainous,  is  undu- 
lating, and  richly  cultivated.  At  Fribourg  the  two  suspen- 
sion bridges  are  the  things  to  see,  and  the  great  organ  the 
thing  to  hear,  which  being  done,  one  may  pass  on  to  Berne, 
the  capital  of  Switzerland,  a  compact  and  prosperous  town  of 
some  35,000  inhabitants.  The  environs  are  very  beautiful, 
comprising  several  parks  and  long  avenues  of  trees.  But 
what  one  may  see  in  Berne,  is  nothing  to  what  one  may  see 
from  it,  which  is  the  whole  chain  of  the  Bernese  Oberland. 
We  were  favored  with  only  a  momentary  sight,  but  even  that 
we  shall  never  forget.  As  we  were  riding  out  of  the  town, 
the  sun,  which  was  setting,  burst  through  the  clouds,  and 
lighted  up  a  long  range  of  snowy  peaks.  This  was  the 
Alpine  afterglow.  It  was  like  a  vision  of  the  heavenly 
battlements,  with  all  their  pinnacles  and  towers  shining  re- 
splendent in  the  light  of  setting  day.  We  gazed  in  silent 
awe  till  the  dazzling  radiance  crept  to  the  last  mountain  top, 
and  faded  into  night. 

A  few  miles  from  Berne,  we  crossed  the  Lake  of  Thun,  a 
sheet  of  water,  which,  like  Loch  Lomond  and  other  Scotch 
lakes,  derives  its  chief  beauty  from  reflecting  in  its  placid 
bosom  the  forms  of  giant  mountains.  Between  Thun  and 
Brienz  lies  the  little  village  fitly  called  from  its  position 
Interlachen  (between  the  lakes)      TJiis  is  the  heart  of  the 


SWITZERLAND.  113 

Bernese  Oberland.  The  weather  on  Saturday  permitted  no 
excursions.  But  we  were  content  to  remain  indoors  after  so 
much  climbing,  and  here  we  passed  a  quiet  and  most  restful 
Sunday.  There  is  but  one  building  for  religious  services — 
an  old  Schloss,  but  it  receives  into  its  hospitable  walls  three 
companies  of  worshippers.  In  one  part  is  a  chapel  fitted  up 
for  the  Catholics  ;  in  another  the  Church  of  England  gathers 
a  large  number  of  those  travellers  from  Britain,  who  to  their 
honor  carry  their  religious  observances  with  them.  Besides 
these  I  found  in  the  same  building  a  smaller  room,  where  the 
Scotch  Presbyterians  meet  for  worship,  and  where  a  minister 
of  the  Free  Church  was  holding  forth  with  all  that  ingenium 
perfervklum  Scotorum  for  which  his  countrymen  are  cele- 
brated. It  was  a  great  pleasure  and  comfort  to  meet  with 
this  little  congregation,  and  to  listen  to  songs  and  prayers 
which  brought  back  so  many  tender  memories  of  home. 

While  enjoying  this  rest,  we  had  mourned  the  absence  of 
the  sun.  Interlachen  lies  in  the  very  lap  of  the  mountains. 
But  though  so  near,  our  eyes  were  holden  that  we  could  not 
see  them,  and  we  thought  we  should  have  to  leave  without 
even  a  sight  of  the  Jungfrau.  But  Monday  morning,  as  we 
rose  early  to  depart,  the  clouds  were  gone — and  there  it  stood 
revealed  to  us  in  all  its  splendor,  a  pyramid  of  snow,  only  a 
little  less  lofty  than  Mont  Blanc  himself.  Having  this 
glorious  vision  vouchsafed  to  us,  we  departed  in  peace. 

Sailing  over  the  Lake  of  Brienz,  as  we  had  over  that  of 
Than,  we  came  again  to  a  mountain  pass,  which  had  to  be 
crossed  by  diligence ;  and  here,  as  before,  mounted  in  the 
front  seat  beside  the  postilion,  we  feasted  our  eyes  on  all  the 
glory  of  Alpine  scenery.  For  nearly  two  hours  we  were 
ascending  at  the  side  of  the  Vale  of  Meyringen,  from  which, 
as  we  climbed  higher  and  higher,  we  looked  down  to  a  greater 
depth,  and  often  at  a  turn  of  the  road  could  see  back  to  the 
Lake  of  Brienz,  which  lay  far  behinn  us,  and  thus  in  one 
view  took  in  all  the  beauties  of  lake  and  valley  and  moun- 


114  SWITZERLAND. 

tain.  While  slowly  moving  upward,  boys  ran  along  by  the 
diligence,  singing  snatches  from  the  JRanz  des  Vaches,  the 
wild  airs  of  these  mountain  regions.  If  it  was  so  exciting  to 
go  up,  it  was  hardly  less  so  to  come  down.  The  road  is  not 
like  that  over  the  Tete  Noire,  but  is  smooth  and  even  like 
that  from  Geneva  to  Chamouni,  and  we  were  able  to  trot 
rapidly  down  the  slope,  and  as  the  road  turns  here  and  there 
to  get  an  easy  grade,  we  had  a  hundred  lovely  views  down 
the  valley  which  was  opening  before  us.  Thus  we  came  to 
the  Lake  of  the  Four  Cantons,  over  which  a  steamer 
brought  us  to  Lucerne. 

My  friend  Dr.  Holland  has  spoken  of  the  place  where  I 
now  write  as  "  the  spot  on  earth  which  seemed  to  him 
nearest  to  heaven,"  and  surely  there  are  few  where  one  feels 
so  much  like  saying,  "  This  is  my  rest,  and  here  will  I 
dwell."  The  great  mountains  shut  out  the  world  with  all  its 
noises,  and  the  lake,  so  peaceful  itself,  invites  to  repose. 

There  are  two  ways  to  enjoy  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water — 
one  from  its  shores,  and  the  other  from  its  surface.  We 
have  tried  both.  The  first  evening  we  took  a  boat  and  spent 
a  couple  of  hours  on  the  lake.  How  it  recalled  the  moon- 
light evenings  at  Venice,  when  we  floated  in  our  gondola  ! 
Indeed  the  boatmen  here  are  not  unlike  the  gondoliers.  They 
have  the  same  way  of  standing,  instead  of  sitting,  in  the  boat 
and  pushing,  instead  of  pulling,  the  oars.  They  manage  their 
little  crafts  with  great  skill,  and  cause  them  to  glide  very 
swiftly  through  the  water.  We  took  a  row  of  several  miles 
to  call  on  a  friend,  who  was  at  a  villa  on  the  lake.  She  had 
left  for  Zurich,  but  the  villa  was  occupied.  A  day  or  two 
before  it  had  been  taken  by  a  lady,  who,  though  she  came 
with  a  retinue  large  enough  to  fill  all  the  rooms,  wished  to  be 
incognita.  She  proved  to  be  the  Queen  of  Saxony,  who,  like 
all  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  glad  to  have  a  little  retirement, 
and  to  escape  from  the  stiffness  of  court  life  in  her  palace  at 
Dresden,  to  enjoy  herself  on  these  quiet  shores.     While  we 


SWITZERLAND.  115 

were  in  the  grounds,  she  came  out,  and  walked  under  the 
trees,  in  most  simple  dress  :  a  woman  whom  it  was  pleasant 
to  look  upon,  a  fair-haired  daughter  of  the  North,  (she  is  a 
Swedish  princess,)  who  won  the  hearts  of  the  Saxou  people 
by  her  care  for  the  wounded  in  the  Franco-German  war.  She 
shows  her  good  sense  and  quiet  tastes  to  seek  seclusion  and 
repose  in  such  a  spot  as  this,  (instead  of  going  off  to  fashiDn- 
able  watering-places,)  where  she  can  sit  quietly  by  these  tran- 
quil waters,  under  the  shadow  of  these  great  mountains. 

All  travellers  who  go  to  Lucerne  must  make  an  excursion 
to  the  Righi,  a  mountain  a  few  miles  from  the  town,  which  is 
exalted  above  other  mountains  of  Switzerland,  not  because  it 
is  higher — for,  in  fact,  it  is  much  lower  than  many  of  them — 
but  that  it  stands  alone,  apart  from  a  chain,  and  so  commands 
a  view  on  all  sides — a  view  of  vast  extent  and  of  infinite 
variety.  I  had  been  on  the  Bighi-Culm  before,  but  the 
impression  had  somewhat  faded,  and  I  was  glad  to  go  again, 
when  all  my  enthusiasm  was  renewed.  The  mountain  is 
easier  of  access  now.  Then  I  walked  up,  as  most  tourists 
did  ;  now  there  is  a  railroad  to  the  very  top,  which  of  itself 
is  worth  a  visit,  as  a  remarkable  piece  of  engineering,  mount- 
ing a  very  steep  grade — in  many  places  one  foot  in  every 
four!  This  is  a  terrible  climb,  and  is  only  overcome  by 
peculiar  machinery.  The  engine  is  behind,  and  pushes  the 
car  up  the  ascent.  Of  course  if  any  accident  were  to  happen 
by  which  the  train  were  to  break  loose,  it  would  descend  with 
tremendous  velocity.  But  this  is  guarded  against  by  a  cen- 
tral rail,  into  which  a  wheel  fits  with  cogs ;  so  that,  in  case 
of  any  accident  to  the  engine,  by  shutting  down  the  brakes, 
the  whole  could  be  held  fast,  as  in  a  vice,  and  be  immovable. 
The  convenience  of  the  road  is  certainly  very  great,  but  the 
sensation  is  peculiar — of  being  literally  "  boosted  "  up  into 
the  clouds. 

But  once  there,  we  are  sensible  that  we  are  raised  into  & 
higher  region ;  we  breathe  a  purer  air.     The  eye  ranges  over 


116  SWITZERLAND. 

the  fairest  portion  of  Switzerland.  Seen  from  such  a  height, 
the  country  seems  almost  a  plain ;  and  yet  viewed  more 
closely,  we  see  hills  and  valleys,  diversified  with  meadows 
and  forests.  We  can  count  a  dozen  lakes.  On  the  horizon 
stretches  the  great  chain  of  the  Alps,  covered  with  snow,  and 
when  the  sun  breaks  through  the  clouds,  it  gleams  with  un- 
earthly brightness.  But  it  is  impossible  to  describe  all  that 
is  comprised  in  that  one  grand  panorama.  Surely,  I  thought, 
these  must  be  the  Delectable  Mountains  from  which  Bun- 
y an's  Pilgrim  caught  a  sight  of  the  Celestial  City ;  and  it 
seemed  as  if,  in  the  natural  order  of  things,  when  one  is 
travelling  over  the  earth,  he  ought  to  come  here  last  (as 
Moses  went  up  into  Mount  Nebo  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
Promised  Land,  and  die),  so  that  from  this  most  elevated 
point  of  his  pilgrimage  he  might  step  into  heaven. 

But  at  last  we  had  to  come  down  from  the  mount,  and 
quieted  our  excited  imaginations  by  a  sail  up  the  lake. 
Pluellen,  at  the  end  of  the  lake,  was  associated  in  my  mind 
with  a  sad  memory,  and  as  soon  as  we  reached  it,  I  went  to  the 
principal  hotel,  and  asked  if  an  American  gentleman  had  not 
died  there  two  years  since  ?  They  answered  Yes,  and  took 
me  at  once  to  the  very  room  where  Judge  Chapman,  the 
Chief  Justice  of  Massachusetts,  breathed  his  last.  He  was  a 
good  man,  and  as  true  a  friend  as  we  ever  had.  The  night 
before  he  sailed  we  spent  with  him  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel.  He  came  abroad  for  his  health,  but  did  not  live  to 
return ;  and  a  few  months  after  our  parting,  it  was  our  sad 
privilege  to  follow  him  to  the  grave  in  Springfield,  where  all 
the  judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Massachusetts,  and  great 
numbers  of  the  Bar,  stood  around  his  bier. 

If  Lucerne  presents  such  beautiful  scenes  in  nature,  it  has 
also  one  work  of  art,  which  impresses  me  as  much  as  any- 
thing of  the  kind  in  Europe.  I  refer  to  the  lion  of  Thorwald- 
sen,  intended  to  commemorate  the  courage  and  fidelity  of  the 
Swiss  regiment  who  were  the  guards  of  the  King  Louis  XV L, 


SWITZERLAND.  117 

and  who,  in  attempting  to  defend  him,were  massacred  in  Paris 
on  the  fatal  10th  of  August,  1792.  Never  was  a  great  act 
of  courage  more  simply,  yet  more  grandly  illustrated.  The 
size  is  colossal,  the  work  being  cut  in  the  side  of  a  rock.  The 
lion  is  twenty-eight  feet  long.  Nothing  can  be  more  majes- 
tic than  his  attitude.  The  noble  beast  is  dying,  he  has  ex- 
hausted his  strength  in  battle,  but  even  as  he  sinks  in  death, 
he  stretches  out  one  huge  paw  over  the  shield  which  bears  on 
it  the  lilies  of  France,  the  emblem  of  that  royal  power  which 
he  has  vainly  endeavored  to  protect.  There  is  something 
almost  human  in  the  face,  in  the  deep-set  eyes,  and  the  droop- 
ing mouth.  It  is  not  only  the  death  agony,  but  the  greater 
agony  of  defeat,  which  is  expressed  in  every  line  of  that  leo- 
nine countenance.  Nothing  in  ancient  sculpture,  not  even  the 
Dying  Gladiator,  gives  more  of  mournful  dignity  in  death. 
I  could  hardly  tear  myself  away  from  it,  and  when  we  turned 
to  leave,  kept  looking  back  at  it.  It  shows  the  wonderful 
genius  of  Thorwaldsen.  When  one  compares  it  with  the  lions 
around  the  monument  of  Nelson  in  Trafalgar  Square  in  Lon- 
don, one  sees  the  difference  between  a  work  of  genius,  and 
that  of  mere  imitation.  Sir  Edwin  Landseer,  though  a  great 
painter  of  animals,  was  not  so  eminent  as  a  sculptor ;  and 
was  at  work  for  years  on  his  model,  and  finally  copied,  it  is 
said,  as  nearly  as  he  could,  an  old  lion  in  the  Zoological  Gar- 
dens ;  and  then  had  the  four  cast  from  one  mould,  so  that 
all  are  just  alike.  How  differently  would  Thorwaldsen  have 
executed  such  a  work  ! 

With  such  attractions  of  art  and  nature,  Lucerne  seems 
indeed  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  Sometimes  a  peculiar  state  of  the  atmosphere,  or  sun- 
set or  moonlight,  gives  peculiar  effects  to  scenes  so  wonder- 
ful. Last  night,  as  we  were  sitting  in  front  of  the  Hotel, 
our  attention  was  attracted  by  what  seemed  a  conflagration 
lighting  up  the  horizon.  Wider  and  wider  it  spread,  and 
higher  and  higher  it  rose  on  the  evening  sky.     All  were  eager 


118  SWITZERLAND. 

as  to  the  cause  of  this  illumination,  when  the  mystery  was 
explained  by  the  full  moon  rising  above  the  horizon,  and 
casting  a  flood  of  light  over  lake  and  mountain.  Who  could 
but  feel  that  God  was  near  at  such  an  hour,  in  such  a  blending 
of  the  earth  and  sky  ? 


ON  THE  RHINE.  1  1  9 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ON   THE   RHINE. 

Cologkb,  July  26th. 

He  that  goeth  up  into  a  high  mountain,  must  needs  come 
down.  We  have  been  these  many  days  among  the  Alps, 
passing  from  Chamouni  to  the  Bernese  Oberland,  and  now 
we  must  descend  into  the  plains.  The  change  is  a  pleasant 
one  after  so  much  excitement  and  fatigue.  One  cannot  bear 
too  much  exaltation.  After  having  dwelt  awhile  among  the 
sublimities  of  Nature,  it  is  a  relief  to  come  down  to  her  more 
common  and  familiar  aspects ;  the  sunshine  is  doubly  grate- 
ful after  the  gloom  of  Alpine  passes  ;  meadows  and  groves 
are  more  pleasant  to  the  eye  than  snow-clad  peaks  ;  and  more 
sweet  to  the  ear  than  the  roar  of  mountain  torrents,  is  the 
murmur  of  softly-flowing  streams.  From  Lucerne,  our  way 
lies  over  that  undulating  country  which  we  had  surveyed  the 
day  before  from  the  summit  of  the  Righi,  winding  around 
the  Lake  of  Zug,  and  ending  at  the  Lake  of  Zurich. 

The  position  of  Zurich  is  very  much  like  that  of  Lucerne, 
at  the  end  of  a  lake,  and  surrounded  by  hills.  A  ride  around 
the  town  shows  many  beautiful  points  of  view,  on  one  of 
which  stands  the  University,  which  has  an  European  reputa- 
tion. Zurich  has  long  been  a  literary  centre  of  some  impor- 
tance, not  only  for  Switzerland,  but  for  Germany,  as  it  is  on 
the  border  of  both.  The  University  gathers  students  from 
different  countries,  even  from  Russia.  We  ended  the  day 
with  a  sail  on  the  water,  which  at  evening  is  alive  with  boats, 
glancing  here  and  there  in  the  twilight.     Then  rows  of  lamps 


120  ON   THE    RHINE. 

are  lighted  all  along  the  shore,  which  are  reflected  in  the 
water ;  the  summer  gardens  are  thronged,  and  bands  fill  the 
ah-  with  music.  The  gayety  of  such  a  scene  I  enjoy  most 
from  a  little  distance;  but  there  are  few  more  exquisite 
pleasures  than  to  lie  motionless,  floating,  and  listening  to 
music  that  comes  stealing  over  the  water.  Then  the  boatman 
dipped  his  oar  gently,  as  if  fearing  to  break  the  charm,  and 
rowed  us  back  to  our  hotel ;  but  the  music  continued  to  a 
late  hour,  and  lulled  us  to  sleep. 

From  Zurich,  a  morning  ride  brought  us  to  Sehaffhausen, 
where  we  stopped  a  few  hours  to  see  the  Falls  of  the  lihine, 
which  are  set  down  in  the  guide-books  as  "  the  most  consid- 
erable waterfall  in  Europe."  Of  course  it  is  a  very  small 
affair  compared  with  Niagara.  And  yet  I  do  not  like  to 
hear  Americans  speak  of  it,  as  they  are  apt  to  do,  with  con- 
tempt. A  little  good  sense  would  teach  us  to  enjoy  whatever 
is  set  before  us  in  nature,  without  boastful  comparisons  with 
something  in  our  own  country.     It  is  certainly  very  beautiful. 

From  Sehaffhausen  a  new  railway  has  recently  been  opened 
through  the  Black  Forest — a  region  which  may  well  attract 
the  readers  of  romance,  since  it  has  been  the  scene  of  many 
of  the  legends  which  abound  in  German  literature,  and  may 
be  said  to  be  haunted  with  the  heroes  of  fiction,  as  Scott  has 
peopled  the  glens  of  Scotland.  In  the  Forest  itself  there  is 
nothing  imposing.  It  is  spread  over  a  large  tract  of  country, 
like  the  woods  of  Northern  New  York.  The  most  remark- 
able thing  in  it  now  is  the  railroad  itself,  which  is  indeed  a 
wonderful  piece  of  engineering.  It  was  constructed  by  the 
same  engineer  who  pierced  the  Alps  by  a  tunnel  under  the 
Mont  Cenis,  nearly  eight  miles  long,  through  which  now 
pours  the  great  volume  of  travel  from  France  to  Italy.  Here 
he  had  a  different,  but  perhaps  not  less  difficult,  task.  The 
formal  ion  of  the  country  offers  great  obstacles  to  the  passage 
of  a  railroad.  If  it  were  only  one  high  mountain,  it  could 
be  tunnelled,  but  instead  of  a  single  chain  which  has  to  be 


ON    THE    RHINE.  121 

crossed,  the  Forest  is  broken  up  into  innumerable  hills,  de- 
tached from  each  other,  and  offering  few  points  of  contact  as 
a  natural  bridge  for  a  road  to  pass  over.  The  object,  of 
course,  is  to  make  the  ascents  and  descents  without  too  abrupt 
a  grade,  but  for  this  it  is  necessary  to  wind  about  in  the  most 
extraordinary  manner.  The  road  turns  and  twists  in  endless 
convolutions.  Often  we  could  see  it  at  three  different  points 
at  the  same  time,  above  us  and  below  us,  winding  hither  and 
thither  in  a  perfect  labyrinth ;  so  that  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  which  way  we  were  going.  We  counted  thirty-seven 
tunnels  within  a  very  short  distance.  Tt  required  little 
imagination  to  consider  our  engine,  that  went  whirling  about 
at  such  a  rate,  puffing  and  screaming  with  excitement,  as  a 
wild  beast  caught  in  the  mountains,  and  rushing  in  every 
direction,  and  even  thrusting  his  head  into  the  earth,  to 
escape  his  pursuers.  At  length  the  haunted  fugitive  plunges 
through  the  side  of  a  mountain,  and  escapes  down  the  valley. 
And  now  we  are  in  a  land  of  streams,  where  mighty  rivers 
begin  their  courses.  See  you  that  little  brook  by  the  road- 
side, which  any  barefooted  boy  would  wade  across,  and  an 
athletic  leaper  would  almost  clear  at  a  single  bound  ?  That 
is  the  beginning  of  the  longest  river  in  Europe,  which,  rising 
here  among  the  hills  of  the  Black  Forest,  takes  its  way  south 
and  east  till  it  sweeps  with  majestic  flow  past  the  Austrian 
capital,  as  "  the  dark-rolling  Danube,"  and  bears  the  com- 
merce of  an  empire  to  the  Black  Sea. 

Our  fellow-travellers  now  begin  to  diverge  to  the  watering 
places  along  the  Rhine — to  Baden  and  Homburg  and  Ems — 
where  so  much  of  the  fashion  of  the  Continent  gathers  every 
summer.  But  we  had  another  place  in  view  which  had  more 
interest  to  me,  though  a  sad  and  mournful  one — Strasburg, 
the  capital  of  ill-fated  Alsace — which,  since  I  saw  it  before, 
had  sustained  one  of  the  most  terrible  sieges  in  history.  We 
crossed  the  Rhine  from  Kehl,  where  the  Germans  planted 
their  batteries,  and  were  soon  passing  through  the  walls  and 
6 


122  ON   THE    RHINE. 

moats  which  girdle  the  ancient  town,  and  made  it  one  of  the 
most  strongly  fortified  places  in  Europe,  and  were  supposed 
to  render  it  a  Gibraltar,  that  could  not  be  taken.  But  no 
walls  can  stand  before  modern  artillery.  The  Germans  planted 
their  guns  at  two  and  three  miles  distance,  and  threw  their 
shells  into  the  heart  of  the  city.  One  cannot  enter  the  gates 
without  perceiving  on  every  side  the  traces  of  that  terrible 
bombardment.  For  weeks,  day  and  night,  a  rain  of  fire 
poured  on  the  devoted  town.  Shells  were  continually  burst- 
ing in  the  streets ;  the  darkness  of  midnight  was  lighted  up 
with  the  flames  of  burning  dwellings.  The  people  fled  to 
their  cellars,  and  to  every  underground  place,  for  safety. 
But  it  was  like  fleeing  at  the  last  judgment  to  dens  and  caves, 
and  calling  on  rocks  to  cover  them  from  the  inevitable  de- 
struction. At  length,  after  a  prolonged  and  heroic  resistance, 
when  all  means  of  defence  were  gone,  and  the  city  must  have 
been  utterly  destroyed,  it  surrendered. 

And  now  what  do  we  see?  Of  course,  the  traces  of  the 
siege  have  been  removed,  so  far  as  possible.  But  still,  after 
five  years,  there  are  large  public  buildings  of  which  only 
blackened  walls  remain.  Others  show  huge  gaps  and  rents 
made  by  the  shot  of  the  besiegers,  and,  worst  of  all,  every- 
where are  the  hated  German  soldiers  in  the  streets.  Stras- 
burg  is  a  conquered  city.  It  has  been  torn  from  France  and 
transferred  to  Germany,  without  the  consent  of  its  own  peo- 
ple ;  and  though  the  conquerors  try  to  make  things  pleasant, 
and  to  soften  as  much  as  may  be  the  bitterness  of  subjuga- 
tion, they  cannot  succeed  in  doing  the  impossible.  The 
people  feel  that  they  have  been  conquered,  and  the  iron 
has  entered  into  their  souls.  One  can  see  it  in  a  silent,  sul- 
len look,  which  is  not  natural  to  Frenchmen.  This  is  the 
more  strange,  because  a  large  part  of  the  population  of 
Alsace  are  Germans  by  race  and  language.  In  the  markets, 
among  the  men  and  women  who  bring  their  produce  for  sale, 
I  heard  little  else  than  the  guttural  sounds  so  familiar  on  the 


ON    THE    RHINE.  123 

other  side  of  the  Rhine.  But  no  matter  for  this  ;  for  two 
hundred  years  the  country  has  belonged  to  France,  and  the 
people  are  French  in  their  traditions — they  are  proud  of  the 
French  glory  ;  and  if  it  were  left  to  them,  they  would  vote 
to-morrow,  by  an  overwhelming  majority,  to  be  re-annexed  to 
France. 

Meanwhile  the  German  Government  is  using  every  effort 
to  li  make  over  "  the  people  from  Frenchmen  into  Germans. 
It  has  introduced  the  German  language  into  the  schools.  It 
has  even  renamed  the  streets.  It  looked  strange  indeed  to  see 
on  all  the  corners  German  names  in  place  of  the  old  familiar 
French  ones.  This  is  oppression  carried  to  absurdity.  If 
the  new  rulers  had  chosen  to  translate  the  French  names  into 
Gorman,  for  the  convenience  of  the  new  military  occupants, 
that  might  have  been  well,  and  the  two  might  have  stood 
side  by  side.  But  no ;  the  old  names  are  taken  down,  and 
Hue  is  turned  into  Strasse  on  every  street  corner  in  Stras- 
burg.  Was  ever  anything  more  ridiculous  ?  They  might  as 
well  compel  the  people  to  change  their  names.  The  conse- 
quence of  all  this  petty  and  constant  oppression  is  that  great 
numbers  emigrate.  And  even  those  who  remain  do  not  take 
to  their  new  masters.  The  elements  do  not  mix.  The 
French  do  not  become  Germans.  A  country  is  not  so  easily 
denationalized.  The  conquerors  occupy  the  town,  but  in 
their  social  relations  they  are  alone.  We  were  told  that  if  a 
German  officer  entered  a  public  cafe  or  restaurant,  the  French 
instantly  arose  and  left.  It  is  the  same  thing  which  I  saw 
at  Venice  and  at  Milan  in  the  days  of  the  old  Austrian  oc- 
cupation. That  was  a  most -unnatural  possession  by  an  alien 
race,  which  had  to  be  driven  out  with  battle  and  slaughter 
before  things  could  come  into  their  natural  and  rightful  rela- 
lions.  And  so  I  fear  it  will  have  to  be  here.  This  annexa- 
tion of  Alsace  to  Germany  may  seem  to  some  a  wonderful 
stroke  of  political  sagacity,  or  a  military  necessity,  the  gain- 
ing of  a  great  strategic  point,   but  to  our  poor  American 


124  ON   THE    RHINE. 

judgment  it  seems  both  a  blunder  and  a  crime,  that  will  yet 
have  to  be  atoned  for  with  blood.  It  is  a  perpetual  humilia- 
tion and  irritation  to  France ;  a  constant  defiance  to  ano- 
ther and  far  more  terrible  war. 

The  ancient  cathedral  suffered  greatly  during  the  bombard- 
ment. It  is  said  the  Germans  tried  to  spare  it,  and  aimed 
their  guns  away  from  it ;  but  as  it  was  the  most  prominent 
object  in  the  town,  towering  up  far  above  everything  else,  it 
could  not  but  be  hit  many  times.  Cannon  balls  struck  its 
majestic  spire,  the  loftiest  in  the  world ;  arches  and  pinna- 
cles were  broken;  numbers  of  shells  crashed  through  the 
roof,  and  burst  on  the  marble  floor.  Many  of  the  windows, 
with  their  old  stained  glass,  which  no  modern  art.  can  equal, 
were  fatally  shattered.  It  is  a  wonder  that  the  whole  edifice 
was  not  destroyed.  But  its  foundations  were  very  solid,  and 
it  stood  the  shock.  Since  the  siege,  of  course,  everything  has 
been  done  to  cover  up  the  rents  and  gaps,  and  to  restore  it  to 
its  former  beauty.  And  what  a  beauty  it  has,  with  outlines 
so  simple  and  majestic.  How  enormous  are  the  columns* 
along  the  nave,  which  support  the  roof,  and  yet  how  they 
seem  to  spring  towards  heaven,  soaring  upwards  like  over- 
arching elms,  till  the  eye  aches  to  look  up  to  the  vaulted 
roof,  that  seems  only  like  a  lower  sky.  Except  one  other 
cathedral — that  of  Cologne  (under  the  very  shadow  of  which 
I  am  now  writing) — it  is  the  grandest  specimen  of  Gothic 
architecture  which  the  Middle  Ages  have  left  to  us. 

There  is  one  other  feature  of  Strasburg  that  has  been 
unaffected  by  political  changes.  One  set  of  inhabitants  have 
not  emigrated,  but  remain  in  spite  of  the  German  occupation 
— the  storks.  Was  anything  ever  so  queer  as  to  see  these 
lcng-legged,  long-necked  birds,  sitting  so  tranquilly  on  the 
roofs  of  the  houses,  flapping  their  lazy  wings  over  the  dwell- 
ings of  a  populous  city,  and  actually  building  their  nests  on 
the  tops  of  the  chimneys'?  Anything  so  different  from  the 
ordinary  habits  of  birds,  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  would 


ON    THE    RHINE.  125 

hardly  have  believed  it  now  if  I  hid  not  seen  it.  It  makes 
one  feel  as  if  everything  was  turned  upside  down,  and  the 
very  course  of  nature  reversed,  in  this  strange  country. 

Another  sign  that  we  are  getting  out  of  onr  latitude,  and 
coming  farther  North,  is  the  change  of  language.  We  found 
that  even  in  Switzerland.  Around  the  Lake  of  Geneva, 
French  is  universally  spoken ;  but  at  Berne  everybody 
addressed  us  in  German.  In  the  Swiss  Parliament  speeches 
are  made  in  three  languages — German,  French,  and  Italian — 
since  all  are  spoken  in  some  of  the  Cantons.  As  we  did  not 
understand  German,  though  familiar  with  French,  we  had 
many  ludicrous  adventures  with  coachmen  and  railway  em- 
ployes, which,  though  sometimes  vexatious,  gave  us  a  good 
deal  of  merriment.  Of  course  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
take  it  good-naturedly.  Generally  when  the  adventure  was 
over,  we  had  a  hearty  laugh  at  our  own  expense,  though 
inwardly  thinking  this  was  a  heathen  country,  since  they  did 
not  know  the  language  of  Canaan,  which,  of  course,  is  French 
or  English.  In  short,  we  have  become  fully  satisfied  that 
English  was  the  language  spoken  by  Adam  and  Eve  in 
Paradise,  and  which  ought  to  be  spoken  by  all  their  descend- 
ants. 

But  no  harsh  and  guttural  sounds,  and  no  gloomy  political 
events,  can  destroy  the  pleasure  of  a  journey  along  the  Rhine. 
The  next  day  we  resumed  our  course  through  the  grand  duchy 
of  Baden.  At  one  of  the  stations  a  gentleman  looking  out 
of  a  carriage  window  called  me  by  name,  and  introduced 
himself  as  Dr.  Evans,  of  Paris — a  countryman  of  ours,  well 
known  to  all  who  have  visited  the  French  capital,  where  he 
has  lived  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  made  for  himself  a 
most  honorable  position  in  his  professh  n,  in  both  the  Ameri- 
can and  foreign  community.  I  had  known  him  when  he  first 
came  to  Parisj  just  after  the  revolution  of  1848.  He  was 
then  a  young  man,  in  the  beginning  of  his  successful 
career.     He  has  been  yet  more  honorably  distinguished  as 


126  ON    THE    KHINE. 

the  gallant  American  who  saved  the  Empress  in  1870.  The 
story  is  too  well  known  to  be  repeated  at  length .  The  sub- 
stance may  be  given  in  a  few  sentences.  When  the  news  of 
the  surrender  at  Sedan  of  the  Emperor  and  his  whole  army- 
reached  Paris,  it  caused  a  sudden  revolution — the  Empire 
was  declared  to  have  fallen,  and  the  excited  populace  were 
ready  to  burst  into  the  palace,  and  the  Empress  might  have 
been  sacrificed  to  their  fury.  She  fled  through  the  Louvre, 
and  calling  a  cab  in  the  street,  drove  to  the  house  of  Dr. 
Evans,  whom  she  had  long  known.  Here  she  was  concealed 
for  the  night,  and  the  next  day  he  took  her  in  his  own 
carriage,  hiding  her  from  observation,  and  travelling  rapidly, 
but  in  a  way  to  attract  no  attention,  to  the  sea-coast,  and  did 
not  leave  her  till  he  had  seen  her  safe  in  England.  Con- 
nected with  this  escape  were  many  thrilling  details,  which 
cannot  be  repeated  here.  I  am  very  proud  that  she  owed  her 
safety  to  one  of  my  countrymen.  It  was  pleasant  to  be 
remembered  by  him  after  so  many  years.  We  got  into  the 
same  carriage,  and  talked  of  the  past,  till  we  separated  at 
Carlsruhe,  from  which  he  was  going  to  Kissingen,  while  we 
went  to  Stuttgart,  to  visit  an  American  family  who  came  to 
Europe  under  my  care  in  the  Great  Eastern  in  1867,  and 
have  continued  to  reside  abroad  ever  since  for  the  education 
of  their  children.  For  such  a  purpose,  Stuttgart  is  admirably 
fitted.  Though  the  capital  of  the  Kingdom  of  Wiirtemberg, 
it  is  a  very  quiet  city.  Young  people  in  search  of  gayety 
might  think  it  dull,  but  that  is  its  recommendation  for  those 
who  seek  profit  rather  than  amusement.  The  schools  are 
said  to  be  excellent ;  and  for  persons  who  wish  to  spend  a 
few  years  abroad,  pursuing  their  studies,  it  would  be  hard  to 
find  a  better  place. 

To  make  this  visit  we  were  obliged  to  travel  by  night  to 
get  back  to  the  Rhine.  We  left  Stuttgart  at  midnight. 
Night  riding  on  European  railways,  where  there  are  no  sleep- 
ing-cars, is  not  very  agreeable.     However,  in  the  first  class 


ON    THE    RHINE.  127 

carriages  one  can  make  a  sort  of  half  couch  by  pulling  out 
the  cushioned  seats,  and  thus  bestowed  we  managed  to  pass 
the  night,  which  was  not  very  long,  as  daybreak  comes  early 
in  this  latitude,  and  at  this  season  of  the  year. 

But  fatigues  vanish  when  at  Mayence  we  go  on  board  the 
steamer,  and  are  at  last  afloat  on  the  Rhine — "  the  exulting 
and  abounding  river."  We  forget  the  discomforts  of  the  way 
as  we  drop  down  this  enchanted  stream,  past  all  the  ruined 
castles,  (i  famed  in  story,"  which  hang  on  the  crests  of  the 
hills.  Every  picturesque  ruin  has  its  legend,  which  clings  to 
it  like  vines  to  the  mouldering  wall.  All  day  long  we  are 
floating  in  the  past,  and  in  a  romantic  past.  Tourists  sit  on 
deck,  with  their  guide-books  in  hand,  marking  every  old 
wall  covered  with  ivy,  and  every  crumbling  tower,  connected 
with  some  tradition  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Even  prosaic  indi- 
viduals go  about  repeating  poetry.  The  best  of  guide-books 
is  Childe  Harold.  Byron  has  seized  the  spirit  of  the  scene  in 
a  few  picturesque  and  animated  stanzas,  which  bring  the 
whole  panorama  before  us.  How  musical  are  the  lines 
beginning, 

The  castled  crag  of  Drachenfels, 

Frowns  o'er  the  wide  and  winding"  Rhine, 
Whose  breast  of  waters  broadly  swells 

Between  the  banks  which  bear  the  vine, 
And  hills  all  rich  with  blossomed  trees, 

And  fields  which  promise  corn  and  wine, 
And  scattered  cities  crowning-  these, 

Whose  far  white  walls  along  them  shine. 

Thus  floating  onward  as  in  a  dream, .we  reached  Cologne  at 
five  o'clock  Saturday  afternoon,  and  found  at  the  Hotel  du 
Nord  a  very  spacious  and  attractive  hostelry,  which  made  us 
well  content  to  stay  quietly  for  two  or  three  days. 

Cologne  has  got  an  ill  name  from  Coleridge's  ill-favored 
compliment,  which  implied  that  its  streets  had  not  always 


128  ON   THE   RHINE. 

the  fragrance  of  that  Cologne  water  which  it  exports  to  all 
countries.  But  I  think  he  has  done  it  injustice  for  the  sake 
of  a  witty  epigram.  If  he  has  not,  the  place  has  much  im- 
proved since  his  day,  and  if  not  yet  quite  a  flower  garden,  is 
at  least  as  clean  and  decent  as  most  of  the  Continental  cities. 
It  has  received  a  great  impulse  from  the  extension  of  rail- 
roads, of  which  it  is  a  centre,  being  in  the  direct  line  of 
travel  from  England  to  the  Rhine  and  Switzerland,  and  to 
the  Geiman  watering-places,  and  indeed  to  every  part  of 
Central  Europe.  Hence  it  has  grown  rapidly,  and  become  a 
large  and  prosperous  city. 

But  to  the  traveller  in  search  of  sights,  every  object  in 
Cologne  "  hides  its  diminished  head  "  in  presence  of  one,  the 
cathedral,  the  most  magnificent  Gothic  structure  ever  reared 
by  human  hands..  Begun  six  hundred  years  ago,  it  is  not 
finished  yet.  For  four  hundred  years  the  work  was  sus- 
pended, and  the  huge  crane  that  stood  on  one  of  its  towers, 
as  it  hung  in  air,  was  a  sad  token  of  the  great,  but  un- 
finished design.  But  lately  the  German  Government,  with 
that  vigor  which  characterizes  everything  in  the  new  empire, 
has  undertaken  its  completion.  Already  it  has  expended 
two  millions  of  dollars  upon  it,  and  holds  out  a  hope  that  it 
may  be  finished  during  this  generation.  To  convey  any  idea 
of  this  marvellous  structure  by  a  description,  is  impossible. 
It  is  a  forest  in  stone.  Looking  through  its  long  nave  and 
aisles,  one  is  more  reminded  of  the  avenues  of  New  Haven 
elms,  than  of  any  work  of  man.  We  ascended  by  the  stone 
steps  to  the  roof,  at  least  to  the  first  roof,  and  then  began  to 
get  some  idea  of  the  vastness  of  the  whole.  Passing  into 
the  interior  at  this  height,  we  made  the  circuit  of  the  gallery, 
from  which  men  looked  very  small  who  were  walking  about 
on  the  pavement  of  the  cathedral.  The  sacristan  who  had 
conducted  us  thus  far,  told  us  we  had  now  ascended  one 
hundred  steps,  and  that,  if  we  chose  to  mount  a  hundred 
more,  we  could  get  to  the  main  roof — the  highest  present  ac- 


ON   THE   RHINE.  129 

cessible  point — for  the  towers  are  not  yet  finished,  which  are 
further  to  be  surmounted  by  lofty  spires.  When  complete, 
the  crosses  which  they  lift  into  the  air  will  be  more  than  five 
hundred  feet  above  the  earth  ! 

The  Cathedral  boasts  great  treasures  and  holy  relics — such 
as  the  bones  of  the  Magi,  the  three  Kings  of  the  East,  who 
came  to  see  the  Saviour  at  bis  birth,  which,  whoso  can  be- 
lieve, is  welcome  to  his  faith.  But  the  one  thing  which  all 
must  believe,  since  it  stands  before  their  eyes,  is  the  magnifi- 
cence of  this  temple  of  the  Almighty.  I  am  surprised  to 
see  the  numbers  of  people  who  attend  the  services,  and 
with  an  appearance  of  devotion,  joining  in  the  singing  with 
heart  and  voice.  The  Cathedral  is  our  constant  resort,  as 
it  is  close  to  our  hotel,  and  we  can  go  in  at  all  hours, 
morning,  noon,  and  night.  There  we  love  to  sit  especially 
at  twilight,  when  the  priests  are  chanting  vespers,  and  lis- 
ten to  their  songs,  and  think  of  the  absent  and  the  dead. 
We  may  wander  far,  and  see  many  lofty  structures  reared  to 
the  Most  High,  but  nowhere  do  we  expect  to  bow  our  heads 
in  a  nobler  temple,  till  we  join  with  tho  worshippers  before 
the  Throne. 

6* 


130  BELGIUM  AND  HOLLAND. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BELGIUM    AND    HOLLAND. 

Amsteedam,  July  30th. 

If  any  of  my  readers  should  follow  our  route  upon  the 
map,  he  will  see  that  we  take  a  somewhat  zigzag  course, 
flying  off  here  and  there  to  see  whatever  most  attracts  atten- 
tion. The  facilities  of  travel  in  Europe  are  so  great,  that  one 
can  at  any  time  be  transported  in  a  few  hours  into  a  new 
country.  The  junior  partner  in  this  travelling  company  of 
two  has  lately  been  reading  Motley's  histories,  and  been  filled 
with  enthusiasm  for  the  Netherlands,  which  fought  so 
bravely  against  Spain,  and  nothing  would  do  but  to  turn 
aside  to  see  these  Low  Countries.  So,  instead  of  going  east 
from  Cologne  into  the  heart  of  Germany,  we  turned  west  to 
make  a  short  detour  into  Belgium  and  Holland.  And  indeed 
these  countries  deserve  a  visit,  as  they  are  quite  unique  in 
appearance  and  in  character,  and  furnish  a  study  by  them- 
selves. They  lie  in  a  corner  of  the  Continent,  looking  out 
upon  the  North  Sea,  and  seem  to  form  a  kind  of  eddy, 
unaffected  by  the  great  current  of  the  political  life  of  Europe. 
They  do  not  belong  to  the  number  of  the  Great  Powers,  and 
do  not  have  to  pay  for  "  glory  "  by  large  standing  armies  and 
perpetual  wars. 

Belgium — which  we  first  enter  in  coming  from  the  Rhine 
— is  one  of  the  smaller  kingdoms  still  left  on  the  map  of 
Europe  not  yet  swallowed  up  by  the  great  devourers  of  nations ; 
and  which,  if  it  has  less  glory,  has  more  liberty  and  more 
real  happiness  than  some  of  its  more  powerful  neighbors.  If 
it  has  not  the  form  of  a  republic,  yet  it  has  all  the  liberty 


BELGIUM    AND    HOLLAND.  131 

which  any  reasonable  man  could  desire.  Its  standing  army  is 
small — but  forty  or  fifty  thousand  men ;  though  in  case  of 
war,  it  could  put  a  hundred  thousand  under  armfe.  But  this 
would  be  a  mere  mouthful  for  some  of  the  groat  German 
armies.  Its  security,  therefore,  lies  not  in  its  ability  to 
resist  attack,  but  in  the  fact  that  from  its  very  smallness  it 
does  not  excite  the  envy  or  the  fear  or  the  covetousness  of  its 
neighbors,  and  that,  between  them  all,  it  is  very  convenient 
to  have  this  strip  of  neutral  territory.  During  the  late  war 
between  France  and  Germany  it  prospered  greatly ;  the 
danger  to  business  enterprises  elsewhere  led  many  to  look 
upon  this  little  country,  as  in  the  days  of  the  Flood  people 
might  have  lookf  d  upon  some  point  of  land  that  had  not  yet 
been  reached  by  the  waters  that  covered  the  earth,  to  which 
they  could  flee  for  safety.  Hence  the  disasters  of  others 
gave  a  great  impulse  to  its  commercial  affairs. 

Antwerp,  where  we  ended  our  first  day's  journey,  is  a  city 
that  has  had  a  great  history ;  that  three  hundred  years  ago 
was  one  of  the  first  commercial  cities  of  Europe,  the  Venice 
of  the  North,  and  received  in  its  waters  ships  from  all  parts 
of  the  earth.  It  has  had  recently  a  partial  revival  of  its 
former  commercial  greatness.  The  forest  of  masts  now  lying 
in  the  Scheldt  tells  of  its  renewed  prosperity. 

But  strangers  do  not  go  to  Antwerp  to  see  fleets  of  ships, 
such  as  they  might  see  at  London  or  Liverpool,  but  to  see 
that  which  is  old  and  historic.  Antwerp  has  one  of  the 
notable  Cathedrals  of  the  Continent,  which  impresses 
travellers  most  if  they  come  directly  from  America.  But 
coming  from  Cologne,  it  suffers  by  comparison,  as  it  has 
nothing  of  the  architectural  magnificence,  the  heaven-soaring 
columns  and  arches,  of  the  great  Minster  of  Cologne.  And 
then  its  condition  is  dilapidated  and  positively  shabby.  It  is 
not  finished,  and  there  is  no  attempt  to  finish  it.  One  of  the 
towers  is  complete,  but  the  other  is  only  half  way  up,  where 
it  has  been  capped  over,  and  so  remained  for  centuries,  and 


132  BELGIUM  AND  HOLLAND. 

perhaps  will  remain  forever.  And  its  surroundings  are  of 
the  meanest  description.  Instead  of  standing  in  an  open 
square,  with  ample  space  around  it  to  show  its  full  propor- 
tions, it  is  hedged  in  by  shops,  which  are  backed  up  against 
its  very  walls.  Thus  the  architectural  effect  is  half  de- 
stroyed. It  is  a  shame  that  it  should  be  left  in  such  a  state 
— that,  while  Prussia,  a  Protestant  country,  is  spending 
millions  to  restore  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne,  Belgium,  a 
Catholic  country,  and  a  rich  one  too  (with  no  war  on  hand  to 
drain  its  resources),  should  not  devote  a  little  of  its  wealth 
to  keeping  in  proper  order  and  respect  this  venerable  monu- 
ment of  the  past. 

And  yet  not  all  the  littleness  of  its  present  surroundings 
can  wholly  rob  the  old  Cathedral  of  its  majesty.  There  it 
stands,  as  it  has  stood  from  generation  to  generation,  and 
out  from  all  this  meanness  and  dirt  it  lifts  its  head  towards 
heaven.  Though  only  one  tower  is  finished,  that  is  very 
lofty  (as  any  one  will  find  who  climbs  the  hundreds  of  stone 
steps  to  the  top,  from  which  the  eye  ranges  over  almost 
the  whole  of  Belgium,  a  vast  plain,  dotted  With  cities  and 
villages),  and  being  wrought  in  open  arches,  it  has  the  appear- 
ance of  fretted  work,  so  that  Napoleon  said  li  it  looked  as  if 
made  of  Mechlin  lace."  And  there,  high  in  the  air,  hangs  a 
chime  of  bells,  that  every  quarter  of  an  hour  rings  out  some 
soft  aerial  melody.  It  has  a  strange  effect,  in  walking  across 
the  Place  St.  Antoine,  to  hear  this  delicious  rain  dropping 
down  as  it  were  out  of  the  clouds.  We  almost  wonder  that 
the  market  people  can  go  about  their  business,  while  there  is 
such  heavenly  music  in  the  upper  air. 

But  the  glory  of  the  Cathedral  of  Antwerp  is  within — not 
in  the  church  itself,  but  in  the  great  paintings  which  it  en- 
shrines. The  interior  is  cold  and  naked,  owing  to  the  entire 
absence  of  color  to  give  it  warmth.  The  walls  are  glaring 
white.  We  even  saw  them  wliitewaslcing  the  columns  and 
arches.     Could  any  means  be  found  more  effectual  for  be- 


BELGIUM    AND    HOLLAND.  133 

littling  the  impression  of  one  of  the  great  churches  of  the 
Middle  Ages  ?  If  taste  were  the  only  tiling  to  be  considered 
in  this  world,  I  could  wish  Belgium  might  be  annexed,  for 
awhile  at  least,  to  Germany,  that  that  Government  might 
take  this  venerable  Cathedral  in  hand,  and,  by  clearing  away 
the  rubbish  around  it,  and  proper  toning  of  the  walls  within, 
restore  it  to  its  former  majesty  and  beauty. 

But  no  surroundings,  however  poor  and  cold,  can  destroy 
the  immortal  paintings  with  which  it  is  illumined  and  glori- 
fied. Until  I  saw  these,  I  could  not  feel  much  enthusiasm 
for  the  works  of  Rubens,  although  those  who  worship  the 
old  masters  would  consider  it  rank  heresy  to  say  so.  Many 
of  his  pictures  seem  to  me  artistic  monstrosities,  they  are  on 
such  a  colossal  scale.  The  men  are  all  giants,  and  the  women 
all  amazons,  and  even  his  holy  children,  his  seraphs  and 
cupids,  are  fat  Dutch  babies.  It  seems  as  if  his  object,  in 
every  painting  of  the  human  figure,  were  to  display  his 
knowledge  of  anatomy ;  and  the  bodies  are  often  twisted  and 
contorted  as  if  to  show  the  enormous  development  of  muscle 
in  the  giant  limbs.  This  is  very  well  if  one  is  painting  a 
Hercules  or  a  gladiator.  But  to  paint  common  men  and 
women  in  this  colossal  style  is  not  pleasing.  The  series  of 
pictures  in  the  Louvre,  in  which  Marie  de  Medicis  is  intro- 
duced in  all  sorts  of  dramatic  attitudes,  never  stirred  my 
admiration,  as  I  have  said  more  than  once,  when  standing 
before  those  huge  canvases,  although  one  for  whose  opinions 
in  such  matters  I  had  infinite  respect,  used  to  reply  archly, 
that  I  "  could  hardly  claim  to  be  an  authority  in  painting." 
1  admit  it ;  but  that  is  my  opinion  nevertheless,  which  I  ad- 
here to  with  all  the  proverbial  tenacity  of  the  "  free  and 
independent  American  citizen." 

But  ah,  1  do  repent  me  now,  as  I  come  into  the  presence  of 
paintings  whose  treatment,  like  their  '  subject,  is  divine. 
There  are  two  such  in  the  Cathedral  of  Antwerp  —the  Eleva- 
tion of  the  Cross,  and   the   Descent  from    the   Cross.     The 


134  BELGIUM  AND  HOLLAND. 

latter  is  generally  regarded  as  the  masterpiece  of  Rubens  ;  but 
they  are  worthy  of  each  other. 

In  the  Elevation  of  the  Cross  our  Saviour  has  been  nailed 
to  the  fatal  tree,  which  the  Roman  soldiers  are  raising  to 
plant  it  in  the  earth.  The  form  is  that  of  a  living  man. 
The  hands  and  feet  are  streaming  with  blood,  and  the  body 
droops  as  it  hangs  with  all  its  weight  on  the  nails.  But  the 
look  is  one  of  life,  and  not  of  death.  The  countenance  has 
an  expression  of  suffering,  yet  not  of  mere  physical  pain  ;  the 
agony  is  more  than  human ;  as  the  eyes  are  turned  upward, 
there  is  more  than  mortal  majesty  in  the  look — there  is  divini- 
ty as  well  as  humanity — it  is  the  dying  God.  Long  we  sat 
before  this  picture,  to  take  in  the  wondrous  scene  which  it 
presents.  He  must  be  wanting  in  artistic  taste,  or  religious 
feeling,  who  can  look  upon  it  without  the  deepest  emotion. 

In  the  Descent  from  the  Cross  the  struggle  is  over :  there 
is  Death  in  every  feature,  in  the  face,  pale  and  bloodless,  in 
the  limbs  that  hang  motionless,  in  the  whole  body  as  it  sinks 
into  the  arms  of  the  faithful  attendants.  If  Rubens  had 
never  painted  but  these  two  pictures,  he  would  deserve  to  be 
ranked  as  one  of  the  world's  great  masters.  I  am  content 
to  look  on  these,  and  let  more  enthusiastic  worshippers  admire 
the  rest. 

Leaving  the  tall  spire  of  Antwerp  in  the  distance,  the 
swift  fire-horse  skims  like  a  swallow  over  the  plains  of  Bel- 
gium, and  soon  we  are  in  Holland.  One  disadvantage  of 
these  small  States  (to  compensate  for  the  positive  good  of 
independence,  and  of  greater  commercial  freedom)  is,  that 
every  time  we  cross  a  frontier  we  have  to  undergo  a  new 
inspection  by  the  custom-house  authorities.  To  be  sure,  it 
does  not  amount  to  much.  The  train  is  detained  half  an 
hour,  the  trunks  are  all  taken  into  a  large  room,  and  placed 
on  counters ;  the  passengers  come  along  with  the  keys  in 
their  hands,  and  open  them ;  the  officials  give  an  inquiring 
look,  sometimes  turn  over  one  or  two  layers  of  clothing,  and 


BELGIUM   AND    HOLLAND.  135 

Bee  that  it  is  all  right ;  the  trunks  are  locked  up,  the  porters 
replace  them  in  the  baggage-car,  and  the  train  starts  on  again. 
We  are  amused  at  the  farce,  the  only  annoyance  of  which  is 
the  delay.  Within  two  days  after  we  left  Cologne,  we  had 
crossed  two  frontiers,  and  had  our  baggage  examined  twice  : 
tirst,  in  going  into  Belgium,  and,  second,  in  coming  into 
Holland  ;  we  had  heard  three  languages — nay,  four — German 
on  the  Khine ;  then  French  at  Antwerp  (how  good  it  seemed 
to  hear  the  familiar  accents  once  more  !)  ;  and  the  Flemish, 
which  is  a  dialect  unlike  either  ;  and  now  we  have  this  horri- 
ble Dutch  (which  is  "  neither  fish,  tlesh,  nor  good  red  her- 
ring," but  a  sort  of  jaw-breaking  gutturals,  that  seem  not  to 
be  spoken  with  lips  or  tongue,  but  to  be  coughed  up  from 
some  unfathomable  depth  in  the  Dutch  breast) ;  and  we  have 
had  three  kinds  of  money — marks  and  francs,  and  florins  or 
guilders — submitting  to  a  shave  every  time  we  change  from 
one  into  the  other.  Such  are  the  petty  vexations  of  travel. 
But  never  mind,  let  us  take  them  good-naturedly,  leaping 
over  them  gayly,  as  we  do  over  this  dike — and  here  we  are  in 
Holland. 

Switzerland  and  Holland  !  Was  there  ever  a  greater  con- 
trast than  between  the  two  countries  ?  What  a  change  for 
us  in  these  three  weeks,  to  be  up  in  the  clouds,  and  now 
down,  actually  below  the  level  of  the  sea ;  for  Holland  is 
properly,  and  in  its  normal  state,  under  water,  only  the  water 
is  drained  off,  and  is  kept  off  by  constant  watchfulness.  The 
whole  land  has  been  obtained  by  robbery — robbery  from  the 
ocean,  which  is  its  rightful  possessor,  and  is  kept  out  of  his 
dominions  by  a  system  of  earthworks,  such  as  never  were 
drawn  around  any  fortification.  Holland  may  be  described 
in  one  word  as  an  enormous  Dutch  platter,  flat  and  even 
hollow  in  the  middle,  and  turned  up  at  the  edges.  Standing 
in  the  centre,  you  can  see  the  rim  in  the  long  lines  of  circum- 
vallation  which  meet  the  eye  as  it  sweeps  round  the  horizon. 
This  immense  platitude  is  intersected  by  innumerable  canals, 


136  BELGIUM   AND    HOLLAND. 

which  cross  and  recross  it  in  every  direction ;  and  as  if  to 
drive  away  the  evil  spirits  from  the  country,  enormous  wind- 
mills, like  huge  birds,  keep  a  constant  flapping  in  the  air. 
To  relieve  the  dull  monotony,  these  plains  are  covered  with 
cattle,  which  with  their  masses  of  black  and  white  and  red  on 
the  green  pastures,  give  a  pretty  bit  of  color  to  the  landscape. 
The  raising  of  cattle  is  one  of  the  chief  industries  of  Holland. 
They  are  exported  in  great  numbers  from  Rotterdam  to 
London,  so  that  "  the  roast  beef  of  old  England  "  is  often 
Dutch  beef,  after  all.  With  her  plains  thus  bedecked  with 
countless  herds,  all  sleek  and  well  fed,  the  whole  land  has  an 
aspect  of  comfort  and  abundance ;  it  looks  to  be,  as  it  is,  a 
land  of  peace  and  plenty,  of  fat  cattle  and  fat  men.  As 
moreover  it  has  not  much  to  do  in  the  way  of  making  war, 
except  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  it  has  no  need  of  a  large 
standing  army ;  and  the  military  element  is  not  so  unpleas- 
antly conspicuous  as  in  France  and  Germany. 

Rotterdam  is  a  place  of  great  commercial  importance.  It 
has  a  large  trade  with  the  Dutch  Possessions  in  the  East 
Indies,  and  with  other  parts  of  the  world.  But  as  it  has  less 
of  historical  interest,  we  pass  it  by,  to  spend  a  day  at  the 
Hague,  which  is  the  residence  of  the  Court,  and  of  course 
the  seat  of  rank  and  fashion  in  the  little  kingdom.  It  is  a 
pretty  place,  with  open  squares  and  parks,  long  avenues  of 
stately  trees,  and  many  beautiful  residences.  We  received  a 
good  impression  of  it  in  these  respects  on  the  evening  of  our 
arrival,  as  we  took  a  carriage  and  drove  to  Scheveningen,  two 
or  three  miles  distant  on  the  sea-shore,  which  is  the  great  re- 
sort of  Dutch  fashion.  It  was  Long  Branch  over  again. 
There  were  the  same  hotels,  with  long  wide  piazzas  looking 
out  upon  the  sea ;  a  beautiful  beach  sloping  down  to  the 
water,  covered  with  bathing-houses,  and  a  hundred  merry 
groups  scattered  here  and  there ;  young  people  engaged  in 
mild  flirtations,  which  were  quite  harmless,  since  old  dow- 
agers sat  looking  on  with  watchful  eyes.     Altogether  it  waa 


BELGIUM  AND  HOLLAND.  137 

a  very  pretty  scene,  such,  as  it  does  one  good  to  see,  as  it 
shows  that  all  life  and  happiness  are  not  gone  out  of  this 
weary  world. 

As  we  drove  back  to  the  Hague,  we  met  the  royal  carriage 
with  the  Queen,  who  was  taking  her  evening  drive— a  lady 
with  a  good  motherly  face,  who  is  greatly  esteemed,  not  only 
in  Holland,  but  in  England,  for  her  intelligence  and  her 
many  virtues.  She  is  a  woman  of  literary  tastes,  and  is  fond 
of  literary  society.  I  infer  that  she  is  a  friend  of  our  coun- 
tryman, Mr.  Motley,  who  has  done  so  much  to  illustrate  the 
history  of  Holland,  from  seeing  his  portrait  the  next  day  at 
her  Palace  in  the  Wood — which  was  the  more  remarkable  as 
hanging  on  the  wall  of  one  of  the  principal  apartments  alone, 
no  other  portrait  being  beside  it,  and  few  indeed  anywhere, 
except  of  members  of  the  royal  family. 

This  "  Wood,"  where  this  summer  palace  stands,  is  one 
of  the  features  of  the  Hague.  It  is  called  the  Queen's  Wood, 
and  is  quite  worthy  of  its  royal  name,  being  a  forest  chiefly 
of  beech-trees,  through  which  long  avenues  open  a  retreat 
into  the  densest  silence  and  shade.  It  is  a  great  resort  for 
the  people  of  the  Hague,  and  thither  we  drove  after  we 
came  in  from  Scheveningen.  An  open  space  was  brilliantly 
lighted  up,  and  the  military  band  was  playing,  and  a  crowd 
of  people  were  sitting  in  the  open  air,  or  under  the  trees,  sip- 
ping their  coffee  or  ices,  and  listening  to  the  music,  which 
rang  through  the  forest  aisles.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find, 
in  a  place  of  the  size  of  the  Hague,  a  more  brilliant  company. 

But  it  was  nob  fashion  that  we  were  looking  for,  but  histori- 
cal places  and  associations.  So  the  next  morning  we  took  a  car- 
riage and  a  guide  and  drove  out  to  Delft,  to  see  the  spot  where 
William  the  Silent,  the  great  Prince  of  Orange,  on  whose 
life  it  seemed  the  fate  of  the  Netherlands  hung,  was  assassi- 
nated ;  and  the  church  where  he  was  buried,  and  where, 
after  three  hundred  years,  his  spirit  still  rules  from  its  urn. 

Returning  to  the  city,  we  sought  out — as  more  interesting 


138  BELGIUM   AND    HOLLAND. 

than  Royal  Palaces  or  the  Picture  Gallery,  though  we  did  j  us- 
tice  to  both — the  houses  of  the  great  commoners,  John  and 
Cornelius  De  Witt,  who,  after  lives  of  extraordinary  devotion 
to  the  public  good,  were  torn  to  pieces  by  an  infuriated  popu- 
lace ;  and  of  Barneveld,  who,  after  saving  Holland  by  his  wis- 
dom and  virtue,  was  executed  on  some  technical  and  frivolous 
charge.  We  saw  the  very  spot  where  he  died,  and  the  win- 
dow out  of  which  Maurice  (the  son  of  the  great  William) 
looked  on  at  this  judicial  murder — the  only  stain  on  his  long 
possession  of  the  chief  executive  power. 

Leaving  the  Hague  with  its  tragic  and  its  heroic  memories, 
we  take  our  last  view  of  Holland  in  Amsterdam.  Was  there 
ever  such  a  queer  old  place  ?  It  is  like  the  earth  of  old — 
(i  standing  out  of  the  water  and  in  the  water."  It  is  inter- 
sected with  canals,  which  are  filled  with  boats,  loading  and 
unloading.  The  whole  city  is  built  on  piles,  which  some- 
times sink  into  the  mud,  causing  the  superincumbent  struc- 
tures to  incline  forward  like  the  Leaning  Tower  of  Pisa.  In 
fact,  the  houses  appear  to  be  drunk,  and  not  to  be  able  to 
stand  on  their  pins.  They  lean  towards  each  other  across  the 
narrow  streets,  tiU  they  almost  touch,  and  indeed  seem  like 
old  topers,  that  cannot  stand  up  straight,  but  can  only  just 
hold  on  by  the  lamp-post,  and  are  nodding  to  each  other  over 
the  way.  I  should  think  that  in  some  places  a  long  Dutch- 
man's pipe  could  be  held  out  of  one  window,  and  be  smoked 
by  a  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

But  in  spite  of  all  that,  in  these  old  tumble-down  houses, 
under  these  red-tiled  roofs,  there  dwells  a  brave,  honest,  free 
people  ;  a  people  that  are  slaves  to  no  master ;  that  fear  God, 
and  know  no  other  fear  ;  and  that  have  earued  their  right  to 
a  place  in  this  world  by  hard  blows  on  the  field  of  battle, 
and  on  every  field  of  human  industry — on  land  and  on  sea — 
and  that  are  to-day  one  of  the  freest  and  happiest  people  on 
the  round  earth. 

How  we  wished  last  evening  that  ws  had  some  of  our 


BELGIUM    AND    HOLLAND.  139 

American  friends  with  us,  as  we  rode  about  this  old  city — 
along  by  the  canals,  over  the  bridges,  down  to  the  harbor, 
and  then  for  miles  along  the  great  embankment  that  keeps 
out  the  sea.  There  are  the  ships  coming  and  going  to  all 
parts  of  the  earth — the  constant  and  manifold  proofs  that 
Holland  is  still  a  great  commercial  country. 

And  to-day  we  wished  for  those  friends  again,  as  we  rode 
to  Broek,  the  quaintest  and  queerest  little  old  place  that  ever 
was  seen — that  looks  like  a  baby-house  made  of  Dutch  tiles. 
It  is  said  to  be  the  cleanest  place  in  the  world,  in  which  re- 
spect it  is  like  those  Shaker  houses,  where  every  tin  pan  is 
scoured  daily,  and  every  floor  is  as  white  as  broom  and  mop 
can  make  it.  We  rode  back  past  miles  of  fertile  meadows, 
all  wrung  from  the  sea,  where  cattle  were  cropping  the  rich 
grass  on  what  was  once  the  bottom  of  the  deep  ;  and  thus 
on  every  hand  were  the  signs  of  Dutch  thrift  and  abundance. 

And  so  we  take  our  leave  of  Holland  with  a  most  friendly 
feeling.  We  are  glad  to  have  seen  a  country  where  there  is 
so  much  liberty,  so  much  independence,  and  such  universal 
industry  and  comfort.  To  be  sure,  an  American  would  find 
life  here  rather  slow ;  it  would  seem  to  him  as  if  he  were 
being  drawn  in  a  low  and  heavy  boat  with  one  horse  through 
a  stagnant  canal ;  but  they  don't  feel  so,  and  so  they  are 
happy.  Blessings  on  their  honest  hearts  !  Blessings  on  the 
stout  old  country,  on  the  lusty  burghers,  and  buxom  women, 
with  faces  round  as  the  harvest  moon  !  Now  that  we  are 
going  away,  the  whole  land  seems  to  relax  into  a  broad  smile  ; 
the  very  cattle  look  happy,  as  they  recline  in  the  fat  meadows 
and  chew  the  cud  of  measureless  content ;  the  storks  seem 
sorry  to  have  us  go,  and  sail  around  on  lazy  wing,  as  if  to 
give  us  a  parting  salutation ;  and  even  the  windmills  begin 
to  creak  on  their  hinges,  and  with  their  long  arms  wave  us  a 
kind  farewell. 


140  THE   NEW    GERMANY   AND    ITS    CAPITAL. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    NEW    GERMANY    AND    ITS    CAPITAL. 

Beklin,  August  5th. 

The  greatest  political  event  of  the  last  ten  years  in  Europe 
— perhaps  the  greatest  since  the  battle  of  Waterloo — is  the 
sudden  rise  and  rapid  development  of  the  German  Empire. 
When  Napoleon  was  overthrown  in  1815,  and  the  allies 
marched  to  Paris,  the  sovereignty  of  Europe,  and  the  peace 
of  the  world,  was  supposed  to  be  entrusted  to  the  Five  Great 
Powers,  and  of  these  five  the  least  in  importance  was 
Prussia.  Both  Russia  and  Austria  considered  themselves 
giants  beside  her ;  England  had  furnished  the  conqueror  of 
Waterloo,  and  the  troops  which  bore  the  brunt  of  that  ter- 
rible day,  and  the  money  that  had  carried  on  a  twenty  years' 
war  against  Napoleon  ;  and  even  France,  terribly  exhausted 
as  she  was.  drained  of  her  best  blood,  yet,  as  she  had  stood  so 
long  against  all  Europe  combined,  might  have  considered 
herself  still  a  match  for  any  one  of  her  enemies  alone,  and 
certainly  for  the  weakest  of  them  all,  Prussia.  Yet  to-day 
this,  which  was  the  weakest  of  kingdoms,  has  grown  to  be 
the  greatest  power  in  Europe — a  power  which  has  crushed 
Austria,  which  has  crushed  France,  which  Russia  treats  with 
infinite  respect,  and  which  would  despise  the  interference  of 
England  in  Continental  affairs. 

This  acquisition  of  power,  though  recent  in  its  manifesta- 
tion, has  been  of  slow  growth.  The  greatness  of  Prussia  may 
be  said  to  have  been  born  of  its  very  humiliation.  It  was 
after  its  utter  overthrow  at  the  battle  of  Jena,  in  1806,  when 
Napoleon  marched  to  Berlin,  levied  enormous  subsidies,  and 


THE    NEW    GERMANY    AND    ITS    CAPITAL.  1  4  I 

appropriated  sucli  portions  of  the  kingdom  as  lie  pleased,  that 
the  rulers  of  Prussia  saw  that  the  reconstruction  of  their 
State  must  begin  from  the  very  bottom,  and  went  to  work  to 
educate  the  people  and  reorganize  the  army.  The  result  of 
this  severe  discipline  and  long  military  training  was  seen 
when,  sixty  years  after  Jena,  Prussia  in  a  six  weeks'  cam- 
paign laid  Austria  at  her  feet,  and  was  only  kept  from  taking 
Vienna  by  the  immediate  conclusion  of  peace.  Four  years 
later  came  the  French  war,  when  King  William  avenged  the 
insults  to  his  royal  mother  by  Napoleon  the  First — whose 
brutality,  it  is  said,  broke  the  proud  spirit  of  the  beautiful 
Queen  Louise,  and  sent  her  to  an  early  grave — in  the  terrible 
humiliation  he  administered  to  Napoleon  the  Third. 

But  such  triumphs  were  not  wrought  by  military  organiza- 
tion alone,  but  by  other  means  for  developing  the  life  and 
vigor  of  the  German  race,  especially  by  a  system  of  universal 
education,  which  is  the  admiration  of  the  world.  The  (Jet- 
mans  conquered  the  French,  not  merely  because  they  were 
better  soldiers,  but  because  they  were  more  intelligent  men, 
who  knew  how  to  read  and  write,  and  who  could  act  more 
efficiently  because  they  acted  intelligently. 

With  her  common  schools  and  her  perfect  milita re- 
organization, Prussia  has  combined  great  political  sagacity, 
by  which  the  fortunes  of  other  States  have  been  united  with 
her  own.  Such  stupendous  achievements  as  were  seen  in  the 
French  war,  were  not  wrought  by  Prussia  alone,  but  by  all 
Germany.  It  was  in  foresight  and  anticipation  of  just  such  a 
contingency  that  Bismarck  had  long  before  entered  into  an 
alliance  with  the  lesser  German  States,  by  which,  in  the 
event  of  war,  they  were  all  to  act  together ;  and  thus,  when 
the  Prussian  army  entered  the  field,  it  was  supported  by 
powerful  allies  from  Saxony  and  Wurtemberg  and  Bavaria. 

And  so  when  the  war  was  over,  out  of  the  old  Confederation 
arose  an  Empire,  and  the  King  of  Prussia  was  invited  to  take 
upon  himself  the  more  august  title  of  Emperor  of  Germany — 


142  THE    NEW    GERMANY   AND    ITS    CAPITAL. 

a  title  which  recalls  the  line  of  the  Caesars  ;  and  thus  has 
risen  up,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Continent — like  an  island 
thrown  up  by  a  volcano  in  the  midst  of  the  sea — a  power 
which  is  to-day  the  most  formidable  in  Europe. 

As  Protestants,  we  cannot  but  feel  a  degree  of  satisfaction 
that  this  controlling  power  should  be  centred  in  a  Protestant 
State,  rather  than  in  France  or  Austria  ;  although  I  should 
be  sorry  to  think  that  our  Protestant  principles  oblige  us  to 
approve  every  high-handed  measure  undertaken  against  the 
Catholics.  We  in  America  believe  in  perfect  liberty  in  re- 
ligious matters,  and  are  scrupulous  to  give  to  others  the  same 
freedom  that  we  demand  for  ourselves.  Of  course  the  rela- 
tions of  things  are  somewhat  changed  in  a  country  where  the 
Church  is  allied  with  the  State,  and  the  ministers  of  religion 
are  supported  by  the  Government.  But,  without  entering 
into  the  question  which  so  agitates  Germany  at  the  present 
moment,  our  natural  sympathies,  both  as  Protestants  and  as 
Americans,  must  always  be  on  the  side  of  the  fullest  reli- 
gious liberty. 

Besides  the  Church  question  there  are  other  grave  prob- 
lems raised  by  the  present  state  of  Germany  : — such  as, 
whether  the  Empire  is  likely  to  endure,  or  to  be  broken  to 
pieces  by  the  jealousy  of  the  smaller  States  of  the  preponder- 
ance of  Prussia  ?  and  whether  peace  will  continue,  or  there 
will  be  a  general  war  ?  But  these  are  rather  large  questions  to 
be  dispatched  in  a  few  pages.  They  are  questions  that  will 
keep,  and  may  be  discussed  a  year  hence  as  well  as  to-day,  ami 
better — since  we  may  then  regard  them  by  the  light  of  accom- 
plished events  :  whereas  now  we  should  have  to  indulge  too 
much  in  prophecies.  I  prefer  therefore,  instead  of  undertaking 
to  give  lessons  of  political  wisdom,  to  entertain  my  readers 
with  a  brief  description  of  Berlin. 

This  can  never  be  the  most  beautiful  of  European  cities, 
even  if  it  should  come  in  time  to  be  the  largest,  for  its  situa- 
tion is  very  unfavorable ;  it  lies  too  low.     It  seems  strange 


THE    NEW   GERMANY   AND    ITS    CAPITAL.  143 

that  this  spot  should  ever  have  been  chosen  for  the  site  of  a 
great  city.  It  has  no  advantages  of  position  whatever,  ex- 
cept that  it  is  on  the  little  river  Spree.  But  having  chosen 
this  flat  prairie,  they  have  made  the  most  of  it.  It  has  been 
laid  out  in  large  spaces,  with  long,  wide  streets.  At  first,  it 
must  have  been,  like  Washington,  a  city  of  magnificent  dis- 
tances, but  in  the  course  of  a  hundred  years  these  distances 
have  been  filled  up  with  buildings,  many  of  them  of  fine .  ar- 
chitecture, so  that  gradually  the  city  has  taken  on  a  stately 
appearance.  Since  I  was  here  in  1858,  it  has  enlarged  on 
every  side ;  new  streets  and  squares  have  added  to  the  size 
and  the  magnificence  of  the  capital;  and  the  military  ele- 
ment is  more  conspicuous  than  ever  ;  w  the  man  on  horseback  " 
is  seen  everywhere.  Nor  is  this  strange,  for  in  that  time 
the  country  has  had  two  great  wars,  and  the  German  armies, 
returning  triumphant  from  hard  campaigns,  have  filed  in  end- 
less procession,  with  banners  torn  with  shot  and  shell, 
through  the  Unter  den  Linden,  past  the  statue  of  the  great 
Frederick,  out  of  the  Brandenburg  gate  to  the  Thiergarten, 
where  now  a  lofty  column  (like  that  in  the  Place  Yendome 
at  Paris),  surmounted  by  a  flaming  statue  of  Victory,  com- 
memorates the  triumph  of  the  German  arms. 

Of  course  we  did  our  duty  heroically  in  the  way  of  seeing 
sights — such  as  the  King's  Castle  and  the  Museum.  But  I 
confess  I  felt  more  interest  in  seeing  the  great  University, 
which  has  been  the  home  of  so  many  eminent  scholars,  and  is 
the  chief  seat  of  learning  on  the  Continent,  than  in  seeing  the 
Palace ;  and  in  riding  by  the  plain  house  in  a  quiet  street, 
where  Bismarck  lives,  than  in  seeing  all  the  mansions  of  the 
Royal  Princes,  with  soldiers  keeping  guard  before  the  gates. 

The  most  interesting  place  in  the  neighborhood  of  Berlin, 
of  course,  is  Potsdam,  with  its  historical  associations,  espe- 
cially with  its  memories  of  Frederick  the  Great.  The  day  we 
spent  there  was  full  of  interest.  An  hour  was  given  to  the 
New   Palace — that   is,  one  that   was  new  a  hundred  years 


144  THE    NEW    GERMANY   AND    ITS    CAPITAL. 

ago,  but  which  at  present  is  kept  more  for  show  than  for  use, 
though  one  wing  is  occupied  by  the  Crown  Prince.  Exter- 
nally it  has  no  architectural  beauty  whatever,  nothing  to  ren- 
der it  imposing  but  size/  but  the  interior  shows  many  state- 
ly apartments.  One  of  these,  called  the  Grotto,  is  quite 
unique,  the  walls  being  crusted  with  shells  and  all  manner  of 
stones,  so  that,  entering  here,  one  might  feel  that  he  had 
found  some  cave  of  the  ocean,  dripping  with  coolness,  and, 
when  lighted  up,  reflecting  from  all  its  precious  stones  a 
thousand  splendors.  It  was  here  that  the  Emperor  enter- 
tained the  King  of  Sweden  at  a  royal  banquet  a  few  weeks 
ago.  But  palaces  are  pretty  much  all  the  same ;  we  wander 
through  endless  apartments,  rich  with  gilding  and  ornament, 
till  we  are  weary  of  all  this  grandeur,  and  are  glad  when  we 
light  on  some  quiet  nook,  like  the  modest  little  palace — if 
palace  it  may  be  called—  Charlottenhof,  where  Alexander  von 
Humboldt  lived  and  wrote  his  works.  I  found  more  interest 
in  seeing  the  desk  on  which  he  wrote  his  Kosmos,  and  the 
narrow  bed  on  which  the  great  man  slept  (he  did  not  need 
muoh  of  a  bed,  since  he  slept  only  four  hours),  than  in  all  the 
grand  state  apartments  of  ordinary  kings. 

But  Frederick  the  Great  was  not  an  ordinary  king,  and 
the  palace  in  which  he  lived  is  invested  with  the  interest  of 
an  extraordinary  personality.  Walking  a  mile  through  a 
park  of  noble  trees,  we  come  to  Sans  Souci  (a  pretty  name, 
'Without  Care).  This  is  much  smaller  than  the  New  Palace, 
but  it  is  more  home-like — it  was  built  by  Frederick  the  Great 
for  his  own  residence,  and  here  he  spent  the  last  years  of  his 
life.  Every  room  is  connected  with  him.  In  this  he  gave 
audience  to  foreign  ministers ;  at  this  desk  he  wrote.  This 
is  the  room  occupied  by  Yoltaire,  whom  Frederick,  worship- 
ping his  genius,  had  invited  to  Potsdam,  but  who  soon  got 
tired  of  his  royal  patron  (as  the  other  perhaps  got  tired  of 
him),  and  ended  the  romantic  friendship  by  running  away. 
And  here  is  the  room  in  which  the  great  king  breathed  his 


THE    NEW    GERMANY   AND    ITS    CAPITAL.  145 

last.  He  died  sitting  in  his  chair,  which  still  bears  the  stains 
of  his  blood,  for  his  physicians  had  bled  him.  At  that  mo- 
ment, they  tell  us,  a  little  mantel  clock,  which  Frederick  al- 
ways wound  up  with  his  own  hand,  stopped,  and  there  it 
stands  now,  with  its  fingers  pointing  to  the  very  hour  and 
minute  when  he  died.  That  was  ninety  years  ago,  and  yet 
almost  every  day  of  every  year  since  strangers  have  entered 
that  room,  to  see  where  this  king,  this  leader  of  armies,  met 
a  greater  Conqueror  than  he,  and  bowed  his  royal  head  to 
the  inevitable  Destroyer. 

But  that  was  not  the  last  king  who  died  in  this  palace. 
"When  we  were  here  in  1858,  the  present  Emperor  was  not 
on  the  throne,  but  his  elder  brother,  whose  private  apart- 
ments we  then  saw ;  and  now  we  were  shown  them  again, 
with  only  this  added :  u  In  this  room  the  old  king  died ;  in 
that  very  bed  he  breathed  his  last."  All  remains  just  as  he 
left  it ;  his  military  cap,  with  his  gloves  folded  beside  it ;  and 
here  is  a  cast  of  his  face  taken  after  his  death.  So  do  they 
preserve  his  memory,  while  the  living  form  returns  no  more. 

From  the  palace  of  the  late  king  we  drove  to  that  of  the 
present  Emperor.  Babelsberg  is  still  more  interesting  than 
Sans  Souci,  as  it  is  associated  with  living  personages,  who 
occupy  the  most  exalted  stations.  It  is  the  home  of  the 
Emperor  himself  when  at  Potsdam.  It  is  not  so  large  as  the 
New  Palace,  but,  like  Sans  Souci,  seems  designed  more  for 
comfort  than  for  grandeur.  It  was  built  by  King  William 
himself,  according  to  his  own  taste,  and  has  in  it  all  the  ap- 
pointments of  an  elegant  home.  The  site  is  beautiful.  It 
stands  on  elevated  ground  (it  seems  a  commanding  eminence 
compared  with  the  fiat  country  around  Berlin),  and  looks  out 
on  a  prospect  in  which  a  noble  park,  and  green  slopes,  de- 
scending to  lovely  bits  of  water,  unite  to  form  what  may  be 
called  an  English  landscape— like  that  from  Richmond  on  the 
Hill,  or  some  scene  in  the  Lake  District  of  England.  The 
house  is  worthy  of  such  surroundings.  We  were  fortunate 
7 


146  THE   NEW   GERMANY   AND    ITS   CAPITAL. 

in  being  there  when  the  Family  were  absent.  The  Empress 
was  expected  home  in  a  day  or  two  ;  they  were  preparing  the 
rooms  for  her  return  ;  and  the  Emperor  was  to  follow  the  next 
week,  when  of  course  the  house  would  be  closed  to  visitors. 
But  now  we  were  admitted,  and  shown  through,  not  only  the 
State  apartments,  but  the  private  rooms.  Such  an  inspection 
of  the  home  of  a  royal  family  gives  one  some  idea  of  their 
domestic  life ;  we  seem  to  see  the  interior  of  the  household. 
In  this  case  the  impression  was  most  charming.  While 
there  was  very  little  that  was  for  show,  there  was  everything 
that  was  tasteful  and  refined  and  elegant.  It  was  pleasant  to 
hear  the  attendant  who  showed  us  the  rooms  speak  in  terms 
of  such  admiration,  and  even  affection,  of  the  Emperor,  as 
"  a  very  kind  man."  One  who  is  thus  beloved  by  his  de- 
pendents, by  every  member  of  his  household,  cannot  but 
have  some  excellent  traits  of  character.  We  were  shown  the 
drawing-room  and  the  library,  and  the  private  study  of  the 
Emperor,  the  chair  in  which  he  sits,  the  desk  at  which  he 
writes,  and  the  table  around  which  he  gathers  his  ministers 
— Bismarck  and  Moltke,  etc.  We  were  shown  also  what  a 
New  England  housekeeper  would  call  the  "  living  rooms," 
where  he  dined  and  where  he  slept.  The  ladies  of  our  party 
declared  that  the  bed  did  not  answer  at  all  to  their  ideas  of 
royal  luxury,  or  even  comfort,  the  sturdy  old  Emperor  hav- 
ing only  a  single  mattress  under  him,  and  that  a  pretty  hard 
one.  Perhaps  however  he  despises  luxury,  and  prefers  to 
harden  himself,  like  Napoleon,  or  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  who 
slept  on  a  camp  bedstead.  He  is  certainly  very  plain  in  his 
habits  and  simple  in  his  tastes.  Descending  the  staircase, 
the  attendant  took  from  a  corner  and  put  in  our  hand  the 
Emperor's  cane.  It  was  a  rough  stick,  such  as  any  dandy  in 
New  York  would  have  despised,  but  the  old  man  had  cut  it 
himself  many  years  ago,  and  now  he  always  has  it  in  his 
hand  when  he  walks  abroad.  And  there  through  the  window 
we  look  down  into  the  poultry  yard,  where  the  Empress,  we 


THE   NEW    GERMANY   AND    ITS    CAPITAL.  147 

were  told,  feeds  her  chickens  with  her  own  hand  every  morn- 
ing. I  was  glad  to  hear  this  of  the  grand  old  lady.  It 
shows  a  kind  heart,  and  how,  after  all,  for  the  greatest  as 
well  as  the  humblest  of  mankind,  the  simplest  pleasures  are 
the  sweetest.  I  dare  say  she  takes  more  pleasure  in  feeding 
her  chickens  than  in  presiding  at  the  tedious  court  cere- 
monies. Such  little  touches  give  a  most  pleasant  impression 
of  the  simple  home-life  of  the  Royal  House  of  Prussia. 

Our  last  visit  was  to  the  tomb  of  Frederick  the  Great,  who 
is  buried  in  the  Garrison  Church.  There  is  nothing  about  it 
imposing  to  the  imagination,  as  in  the  tomb  of  Napoleon  at 
Paris.  It  is  only  a  little  vault,  which  a  woman  opens  with  a 
key,  and  lights  a  tallow  candle,  and  you  lay  your  hand  on  the 
metallic  coffin  of  the  great  King  There  he  lies — that  fiery 
spirit  that  made  war  for  the  love  of  war,  that  attacked 
Austria,  and  seized  Silesia,  more  for  the  sake  of  the  excite- 
ment of  the  thing,  and,  as  he  confessed,  (<  to  make  people  talk 
about  him,"  than  because  he  had  the  slightest  pretence  to 
that  Austrian  province ;  who,  though  he  wanted  to  be  a 
soldier,  yet  in  his  first  battle  ran  away  as  fast  as  his  horse 
could  carry  him,  and  hid  himself  in  a  barn ;  but  who  after- 
wards recovered  control  of  himself,  and  became  the  greatest 
captain  of  his  time.  He  it  was  who  carried  through  the 
Seven  Years'  War,  not  only  against  Austria,  but  against 
Europe,  and  who  held  Silesia  against  them  all.  "  The  Con- 
tinent in  arms,"  says  Macaulay,  "  could  not  tear  it  from 
that  iron  grasp."  But  now  the  warrior  is  at  rest ;  that  figure, 
long  so  well  known,  no  more  rides  at  the  head  of  armies.  In 
this  bronze  coffin  lies  all  that  remains  of  Frederick  the  Great : 

"  He  sleeps  his  last  sleep,  he  has  f  ought  his  last  battle, 
No  sound  shall  awake  him  to  glory  again." 

Speaking  of  tombs — as  of  late  my  thoughts  "have  had 
much  discourse  with  death  " — the  most  beautiful  which  I 
have  ever  seen  anywhere  is  that  of  Queen  Louise,  the  mother 


148  THE   NEW   GERMANY   AND    ITS    CAPITAL. 

of  the  present  Emperor,  in  the  Mausoleum  at  Charlottenburg 
The  statue  of  the  Queen  is  by  the  famous  German  sculptor 
Rauch.  When  I  first  saw  it  years  ago,  it  left  such  an  impres 
sion  that  I  could  not  leave  Berlin  without  seeing  it  again 
and  we  drove  out  of  the  city  several  miles  for  the  purpose, 
It  is  in  the  grounds  attached  to  one  of  the  royal  palaces; 
but  we  did  not  care  to  see  any  more  palaces,  if  only  we  could 
look  again  on  that  pure  white  marble  form.  At  the  end  of  a 
long  avenue  of  trees  is  the  Mausoleum — a  small  building 
devoted  only  to  royal  sepulture — and  there,  in  a  subdued 
light,  stretched  upon  her  tomb,  lies  the  beautiful  Queen. 
Her  personal  loveliness  is  a  matter  of  tradition ;  it  is  preserved 
in  innumerable  portraits,  which  show  that  she  was  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  women  of  her  time.  That  beauty  is  preserved 
in  the  reclining  statue.  The  head  rests  on  a  marble  pillow, 
and  is  turned  a  little  to  one  side,  so  as  to  show  the  perfect 
symmetry  of  the  Grecian  outlines.  It  is  a  sweet,  sad  face 
(for  she  had  sorrows  that  broke  her  queenly  heart)  ;  but  now 
her  trials  are  ended,  and  how  calmly  and  peacefully  she  sleeps  ! 
The  form  is  drooping,  as  if  she  slumbered  on  her  bed;  she 
seems  almost  to  breathe ;  hush,  the  marble  lips  are  going  to 
speak  !  Was  there  ever  such  an  expression  of  perfect  repose  ? 
It  makes  one  "  half  in  love  with  blissful  death."  It  brought 
freshly  to  mind  the  lines  of  Shelley  in  Queen  Mab : 

How  wonderful  is  Death ! 

Death  and  his  brother  Sleep  ! 
One,  pale  as  yonder  waning  moon, 

With  lips  of  lurid  blue ; 

The  other,  rosy  as  the  morn 
When  throned  on  ocean's  wave, 

It  blushes  o'er  the  world  : 
Yet  both  so  passing  wonderful ! 

By  the  side  of  the  statue  of  the  Queen  reposes,  on  another 
tomb,  that  of  her  husband — a  noble  figure  in  his  military 


THE    NEW    GERMANY   AND    ITS    CAPITAL.  149 

cloak,  with  his  hands  folded  on  his  breast.  The  King  survived 
the  Queen  thirty  years.  She  died  in  her  youth,  in  1810 ;  he 
lived  till  1840  ;  but  his  heart  was  in  her  tomb,  and  it  is  fit- 
ting that  now  they  sleep  together. 

On  the  principle  of  rhetoric,  that  a  description  should  end 
with  that  which  leaves  the  deepest  impression,  I  end  my  letter 
here,  with  the  softened  light  of  that  Mausoleum  falling  on 
that  breathing  marble  ;  for  in  all  my  memories  of  Berlin,  no 
one  thing — neither  palace,  nor  museum,  nor  the  statue  of 
Frederick*the  Great,  nor  the  Column  of  Victory — has  left  in 
me  so  deep  a  feeling  as  the  silent  form  of  that  beautiful 
Queen.  Queen  Louise  is  a  marked  figure  in  German  history, 
being  invested  with  touching  interest  by  her  beauty  and  her 
sorrow,  and  early  death.  I  like  to  think  of  such  a  woman 
as  the  mother  of  a  royal  race,  now  actors  on  the  stage.  It 
cannot  but  be  that  the  memory  of  her  beauty,  associated  with 
her  patriotism,  her  courage,  and  her  devotion,  should  long 
remain  an  inheritance  of  that  royal  line,  and  their  most  pre- 
cious inspiration.  May  the  young  princes,  growing  up  to  be 
future  kings  and  emperors,  as  they  gather  round  her  tomb, 
tenderly  cherish  her  memory  and  imitate  her  virtues  ! 


150  AUSTRIA — OLD    AND   NEW. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

AUSTRIA — OLD   AND   NEW. 

Vienna,  August  12th. 

We  are  taking  such  a  wide  sweep  through  Central  Europe,, 
travelling  from  city  to  city,  and  country  to  country,  that  my 
materials  accumulate  much  faster  than  I  can  use  them. 
There  are  three  cities  which  I  should  be  glad  to  describe  in 
detail — Hamburg,  Dresden,  and  Prague.  Hamburg,  to  which 
we  came  from  Amsterdam,  perhaps  appears  more  beautiful 
from  the  contrast,  and  remains  in  our  memory  as  the  fairest 
city  of  the  North.  Dresden,  the  capital  of  Saxony,  is  also  a 
beautiful  city,  and  attracts  a  great  number  of  English  and 
American  residents  by  its  excellent  opportunities  of  educa- 
tion, and  from  its  treasures  of  art,  in  which  it  is  richer  than 
any  other  city  in  Germany.  Our  stay  there  was  made  most 
pleasant  by  an  American  family  whom  we  had  known  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  who  gave  us  a  cordial  welcome, 
and  under  whose  roof  we  felt  how  sweet  is  the  atmosphere 
of  an  American  home.  The  same  friends,  when  we  left,  ac- 
companied us  on  our  way  into  the  Saxon  Switzerland,  con- 
ducting us  to  the  height  of  the  Bastei,  a  huge  cliff,  which 
from  the  very  top  of  a  mountain  overhangs  the  Elbe,  which 
winds  its  silver  current  through  the  valley  below,  while  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river  the  fortress-crowned  rock  of  Kon- 
igstein  lifts  up  its  head,  like  Edinburgh  Castle,  to  keep  ward 
and  watch  over  the  beautiful  kingdom  of  Saxony. 

And  there  is  dear  old  Prague,  rusty  and  musty,  that  in 
some  quarters  has  such  a  tumble-down  air  that  it  seems  as  if 
it  were  to  be  given  up  to  Jews,  who  were  going  to  convert 


AUSTRIA — OLD    AND    NEW.  151 

it  into  a  huge  Rag  Fair  for  the  sale  of  old  clothes,  and  yet 
that  in  other  quarters  has  new  streets  and  new  squares,  and 
looks  as  if  it  had  caught  a  little  of  the  spirit  of  the  modern 
time.  But  the  interest  of  Prague  to  a  stranger  must  be 
chiefly  historical — for  what  it  has  been  rather  than  for  what 
it  is.  These  associations  are  so  many  and  so  rich,  that  to 
one  familiar  with  them,  the  old  churches  and  bridges,  and 
towers  and  castles,  are  full  of  stirring  memories.  As  we  rode 
across  the  bridge,  from  which  St.  John  of  Nepomuc  was 
thrown  into  the  river,  five  hundred  years  ago,  because  he 
would  not  betray  to  a  wicked  king  the  secret  which  the 
queen  had  confided  to  him  in  the  confessional,  up  to  the 
Cathedral  where  a  gorgeous  shrine  of  silver  keeps  his  dust, 
and  perpetuates  his  memory,  the  lines  of  Longfellow  were 
continually  running  in  my  mind  : 

I  have  read  in  some  old  marvellous  tale, 

Some  legend  strange  and  vague, 
That  a  midnight  host  of  spectres  pale 

Beleaguered  the  walls  of  Prague. 

Beside  the  Moldau's  rushing  stream, 

With  the  wan  moon  overhead, 
There  stood,  as  in  an  awful  dream, 

The  army  of  the  dead. 

It  needs  but  little  imagination  on  the  spot  to  call  up  indeed 
an  "  army  of  the  dead."  Standing  on  this  old  bridge,  one  could 
almost  hear,  above  the  rushing  Moldau,  the  drums  of  Zisca 
calling  the  Hussites  to  arms  on  the  neighboring  heights,  a 
battle  sound  answered  in  a  later  century  by  the  cannon  of 
Frederick  the  Great.  Above  us  is  the  vast  pile  of  the  Hrads- 
chin,  the  abode  of  departed  royalties,  where  but  a  few  weeks 
ago  poor  old  Ferdinand,  the  ex-Emperor  of  Austria,  breathed 
his  last.  He  was  almost  an  imbecile,  who  sat  for  many 
years  on  the  throne  as  a  mere  figurehead  of  the  State,  and 
who  was  perfectly  harmless,  since  he  had  little  more  to  do 


152  AUSTRIA OLD    AND   NEW. 

with  the  Government  than  if  he  had  been  a  log  of  wood  ; 
but  who,  when  the  great  events  of  1 848  threatened  the  over- 
throw of  the  Empire,  was  hurried  out  of  the  way  to  make 
room  for  younger  blood,  and  his  nephew,  Francis  Joseph, 
came  to  the  throne.  He  lived  to  be  eighty-two  years  old,  yet 
so  utterly  insignificant  was  he  that  almost  the  only  thing  he 
ever  said  that  people  remember,  was  a  remark  that  at  one  time 
made  the  laugh  of  Vienna.  Once  in  a  country  place  he  tasted 
of  some  dumplings,  a  wretched  compound  of  garlic  and  all 
sorts  of  vile  stuff,  but  which  pleased  the  royal  taste,  and 
which  on  his  return  to  Vienna  he  ordered  for  the  royal  table, 
greatly  to  the  disgust  of  his  attendants,  to  whom  he  replied, 
"  I  am  Kaiser,  and  I  will  have  my  dumplings  !  "  This  got 
out,  and  caused  infinite  merriment.  Poor  old  man  !  I 
hope  he  had  his  dumplings  to  the  last.  He  was  a  weak, 
simple  creature  ;  but  he  is  gone,  and  has  been  buried  with 
royal  honors,  and  sleeps  with  the  Imperial  house  of  Austria 
in  the  crypt  of  the  Church  of  the  Capuchins  in  Vienna. 

But  all  these  memories  of  Prague,  personal  or  historical, 
recent  or  remote,  I  must  leave,  to  come  at  once  to  the  Aus- 
trian capital,  one  of  the  most  interesting  cities  of  Europe. 
Vienna  is  a  far  more  picturesque  city  than  Berlin.  It  ia 
many  times  older.  It  was  a  great  city  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
when  Berlin  had  no  existence.  The  Cathedral  of  St.  Stephen 
was  erected  hundreds  of  years  before  the  Elector  of  Branden- 
burg chose  the  site  of  a  town  on  the  Spree,  or  Peter  the 
Great  began  to  build  St.  Petersburg  on  the  banks  of  the 
Neva.  Vienna  has  played  a  great  part  in  European  history. 
It  long  stood  as  a  barrier  against  Moslem  invasion.  Less 
than  two  hundred  years  ago  it  was  besieged  by  the  Turks, 
and  nothing  but  its  heroic  resistance,  aided  by  the  Poles, 
under  John  Sobieski,  prevented  the  irruption  of  Asiatic  bar- 
barians into  Central  Europe.  From  the  tower  of  St.  Ste- 
phen's anxious  watchers  have  often  marked  the  tide  of  battle, 
as  it  ebbed  and  flowed  around  the  ancient  capital,  from  the 


AUSTRIA OLD   AND    NEW.  153 

time  when  the  plain  of  the  Marchfeld  was  covered  with  the 
tents  of  the  Moslems,  to  that  when  the  armies  of  Napoleon, 
matched  against  those  of  Austria,  fought  the  terrible  battles 
of  Aspern,  Essling,  and  Wagram. 

But  if  Vienna  is  an  old  city,  it  is  also  a  new  one.  In 
revisiting  Germany,  I  am  constantly  struck  with  the  contrast 
between  what  I  see  now,  and  what  I  saw  in  1858.  Then 
Vienna  was  a  pleasant,  old-fashioned  city,  not  too  large  for 
comfort,  strongly  fortified,  like  most  of  the  cities  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  with  high  walls  and  a  deep  moat  encompassing  it 
on  all  sides.  Now  all  has  disappeared — the  moat  has  been 
filled  up,  and  the  walls  have  been  razed  to  the  ground,  and 
where  they  stood  is  a  circle  of  broad  streets  called  the 
Bing-strasse,  like  the  Boulevards  of  Paris.  The  city  thus 
let  loose  has  burst  out  on  all  sides,  and  great  avenues  and 
squares,  and  parks  and  gardens,  have  sprung  into  existence 
on  every  hand.  The  result  is  a  far  more  magnificent  capital 
than  the  Vienna  which  I  knew  seventeen  years  ago. 

Nor  are  the  changes  less  in  the  country  than  in  the  capital. 
There  have  been  wars  and  revolutions,  which  have  shaken 
the  Empire  so  that  its  very  existence  was  in  danger,  but  out 
of  which  it  has  come  stronger  than  ever.  Austria  is  the 
most  remarkable  example  in  Europe  of  the  good  effects  of  a 
thorough  beating.  Twice,  since  I  was  here  before,  she  has 
had  a  terrible  humiliation — in  1859  and  in  1866— at  Sol- 
ferino  and  at  Sadowa. 

In  1858  Austria  was  slowly  recovering  from  the  terrible 
shock  of  ten  years  before,  the  .Revolutionary  Year  of  1848. 
In  '49  was  the  war  in  Hungary,  when  Kossuth  with  his  fiery 
eloquence  roused  the  Magyars  to  arms,  and  they  fought  with 
such  vigor  and  success,  that  they  threatened  to  march  on 
Vienna,  and  the  independence  of  Hungary  might  have  been 
secured  but  for  the  intervention  of  Russia.  Gorgei  surren- 
dered to  a  Russian  army.  Then  came  a  series  of  bloody 
executions.     The  Hungarian  leaders  who  fell  into  the  hands 

7* 


154  AUSTKIA OLD    AND    NEW. 

of  the  Austrians,  found  no  pity-  The  illustrious  Count  Louis 
Batthyani  was  sent  to  the  scaffold.  Kossuth  escaped  only  by 
fleeing  into  Turkey.  Gen.  Bern  turned  Mussulman,  saying 
that  "  his  only  religion  was  love  of  liberty  and  hatred  of 
tyranny,"  and  served  as  a  Pacha  at  the  head  of  a  Turkish 
army.  It  is  a  curious  illustration  of  the  change  that  a  few 
years  have  wrought,  that  Count  Andrassy,  who  was  concerned 
with  Batthyani  in  the  same  rebellion,  and  was  also  sentenced 
to  death,  but  escaped,  is  now  the  Prime  Minister  of  Austria. 
But  then  vengeance  ruled  the  hour.  The  bravest  Hungarian 
generals  were  shot — chiefly,  it  was  said  at  the  time,  by  the 
imperious  will  of  the  Archduchess  Sophia,  the  mother  of 
Francis  Joseph.  There  is  no  hatred  like  a  woman's,  and  she 
could  not  forego  the  savage  delight  of  revenge  on  those  who  had 
dared  to  attack  the  power  of  Austria.  Proud  daughter  of  the 
Caesars  !  she  was  yet  to  taste  the  bitterness  of  a  like  cruelty, 
when  her  own  son,  Maximilian,  bared  his  breast  to  a  file  of 
Mexican  soldiers,  and  found  no  mercy.  I  thought  of  this 
to-day,  as  I  saw  in  the  burial-place  of  the  Imperial  family, 
near  the  coffin  of  that  haughty  and  unforgiving  woman,  the 
coffin  of  her  son,  whose  poor  body  lies  there  pierced  with  a 
dozen  balls. 

But  for  the  time  Austria  was  victorious,  and  in  the  flush 
of  the  reaction  which  was  felt  throughout  Europe,  began  to 
revive  the  old  Imperial  absolutism,  the  stern  repression  of 
liberty  of  speech  and  of  the  press,  the  system  of  passports  and 
of  spies,  of  jealous  watchfulness  by  the  police,  and  of  full 
submission  to  the  Church  of  Home. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  in  1858;  and  such  it  might 
have  remained  if  the  possessors  of  power  had  not  been  rudely 
awakened  from  their  dreams.  How  well  I  remember  the 
Bense  of  triumph  and  power  of  that  year.  The  empire  of 
Austria  had  been  fully  restored,  including  not  only  its  pres- 
ent territory,  but  the  fairest  portion  of  Italy — Lombardy 
and  Venice.     To  complete  the  joy  of  the  Imperial  house,  an 


AUSTRIA  — OLD    AND    NEW.  155 

heir  had  just  been  born  to  the  throne.  I  was  present  in  the 
cathedral  of  Milan  when  a  solemn  Te  Deum  was  performed 
in  thanksgiving  for  that  crowning  gift.  Maximilian  was  then 
Viceroy  in  Lombardy.  I  see  him  now  as,  with  his  young 
bride  Carlotta,  he  walked  slowly  up  that  majestic  aisle,  sur- 
rounded by  a  brilliant  staff  of  officers,  to  give  thanks  to 
Almighty  God  for  an  event  which  seemed  to  promise  the 
continuance  of  the  royal  house  of  Austria,  and  of  its  Imperial 
power  to  future  generations.  Alas  for  human  foresight ! 
In  less  than  one  year  the  armies  of  France  had  crossed  the 
Alps,  a  great  battle  had  been  fought  at  Solferino,  and  Lom- 
bardy was  forever  lost  to  Austria,  and  a  Te  Deum  was  per- 
formed in  the  cathedral  of  Milan  for  a  very  different  occa- 
sion, but  with  still  more  enthusiastic  rejoicing. 

But  that  was  not  the  end  of  bitterness.  Austria  was  not 
yet  sufficiently  humiliated.  She  still  clung  to  her  old 
arbitrary  system,  and  was  to  be  thoroughly  converted  only 
by  another  administration  of  discipline.  She  had  still 
another  lesson  to  learn,  and  that  was  to  come  from  another 
source,  a  power  still  nearer  home.  Though  driven  out  of  a 
part  of  Italy,  Austria  was  still  the  great  power  in  Germany. 
She  was  the  most  important  member  of  the  Germanic  Con- 
federation, as  she  had  a  vote  in  the  Diet  at  Frankfort  pro- 
portioned to  her  population,  although  two-thirds  of  her 
people  were  not  Germans.  The  Hungarians  and  the  Bohe- 
mians aie  of  other  races,  and  speak  other  languages.  But 
by  the  dexterous  use  of  this  power,  with  the  alliance  of 
Bavaria  and  other  smaller  States,  Austria  was  able  always 
to  control  the  policy  and  wield  the  influence  of  Germany. 
Prussia  was  continually  outvoted,  and  her  political  influence 
reduced  to  nothing — a  state  of  things  which  became  the  more 
unendurable  the  more  she  grew  in  strength,  and  became  con- 
scious of  her  power.  At  length  her  statesmen  saw  that  the 
only  hope  of  Prussia  to  gain  her  rightful  place  and  power  in 
the  councils  of  Europe,  was  to  drive  Austria  out  of  Germany 


156  AUSTRIA OLD    AND    NEW. 

— to  compel  her  to  withdraw  entirely  from  the  Confedera- 
tion. It  was  a  bold  design.  Of  course  it  meant  war ;  but 
for  this  Prussia  had  been  long  preparing.  Suddenly,  like  a 
thunderbolt  from  a  clear  sky,  came  the  war  of  1866.  Scarcely 
was  it  announced  before  a  mighty  army  marched  into  Bohe- 
mia, and  the  battle  of  Sadowa,  the  greatest  in  Europe  since 
Waterloo,  ended  the  campaign.  In  six  weeks  all  was  over. 
The  proud  house  of  Austria  was  humbled  in  the  dust.  Her 
great  army,  that  was  to  capture  Berlin,  was  crushed  in  one 
terrible  day,  and  the  Prussians  were  on  the  march  for 
Vienna,  when  their  further  advance  was  stopped  by  the 
conclusion  of  peace. 

This  was  a  fearful  overthrow  for  Austria.  But  good  comes 
out  of  evil.  It  was  the  day  of  deliverance  for  Hungary  and 
for  Italy.  Man's  extremity  is  God's  opportunity,  and  the 
king's  extremity  is  liberty's  opportunity.  Up  to  this  hour 
Francis  Joseph  had  obstinately  refused  to  grant  to  Hungary 
that  separate  government  to  which  she  had  a  right  by  the 
ancient  constitution  of  the  kingdom,  but  which  she  had  till 
then  vainly  demanded.  But  at  length  the  eyes  of  the  young 
emperor  were  opened,  and  on  the  evening  of  that  day  which 
saw  the  annihilation  of  his  military  power,  it  is  said,  he  sent 
for  Deak,  the  leader  of  the  Hungarians,  and  asked  "  If  he 
should  then  concede  all  that  they  had  asked,  if  they  would 
rally  to  his  support  so  as  to  save  him  ?  "  "  Sire,"  said  the 
stern  Hungarian  leader,  "  it  is  too  late  !  "  Nothing  remained 
for  the  proud  Hapsburg  but  to  throw  himself  on  the  mercy  of 
the  conqueror,  and  obtain  such  terms  as  he  could.  Venice 
was  signed  away  at  a  stroke.  In  his  despair  he  telegraphed 
to  Paris,  giving  that  beautiful  province  to  Napoleon,  to  secure 
the  support  of  France  in  his  extremity,  who  immediately 
turned  it  over  to  Victor  Emmanuel,  thus  completing  the  unity 
of  Italy. 

The  results  in  Germany  were  not  less  important.  As  the 
fruit  of  this  short,  but  decisive  campaign,  Austria,  besides 


AUSTRIA — OLD    AND    NEW.  157 

paying  a  large  indemnity  for  the  expenses  of  the  war,  finally 
withdrew  wholly  from  the  German  Confederation,  leaving 
Prussia  master  of  the  field,  which  proceeded  at  once  to  form 
a  new  Confederation  with  itself  at  the  head. 

After  such  repeated  overthrows  and  humiliations,  one 
would  suppose  that  Austria  was  utterly  ruined,  and  that  the 
proud  young  emperor  would  die  of  shame.  But,  "  sweet  are 
the  uses  of  adversity."  Humiliation  is  sometimes  good  for 
nations  as  for  individuals,  and  never  was  it  more  so  than 
now.  The  impartial  historian  will  record  that  these  defeats 
were  Austria's  salvation.  The  loss  of  Italy,  however  morti- 
fying to  her  pride,  was  only  taking  away  a  source  of  constant 
trouble  and  discontent,  and  leaving  to  the  rest  of  the  empire 
a  much  more  perfect  unity  than  it  had  before. 

So  with  the  independence  of  Hungary ;  while  it  was  an 
apparent  loss,  it  was  a  real  gain.  The  Magyars  at  last  ob- 
tained what  they  had  so  long  been  seeking — a  separate  ad- 
ministration, and  Francis  Joseph,  Emperor  of  Austria,  was 
crowned  at  Pesth,  King  of  Hungary.  By  this  act  of  wise 
conciliation  five  millions  of  the  bravest  people  in  Europe 
were  converted  from  disaffected,  if  not  disloyal,  subjects, 
into  contented  and  warmly  attached  supporters  of  the  House 
of  Austria,  the  most  devoted  as  they  are  the  most  warlike 
defenders  of  the  throne  and  the  Empire. 

Another  result  of  this  war  was  the  emancipation  of  the 
Emperor  himself  from  the  Pope.  Till  then,  Austria  had 
been  one  of  the  most  extreme  Catholic  powers  in  Europe. 
Not  Spain  itself  had  been  a  more  servile  adherent  of  Rome. 
The  Concordat  gave  all  ecclesiastical  appointments  to  the 
Pope.  But  the  thunder  of  the  guns  of  Sadowa  destroyed 
a  great  many  illusions — among  them  that  of  a  ghostly  power 
at  Rome,  which  had  to  be  conciliated  as  the  price  of  temporal 
prosperity  as  well  as  of  eternal  salvation.  This  illusion  is 
now  gone ;  the  Concordat  has  been  repealed,  and  Austria  has 
a  voice  in  the  appointment  of  her  own  bishops.     The  late 


158  AUSTRIA — OLD    AND    NEW. 

Prime  Minister,  Count  Beust,  was  a  Protestant.  In  her  treat- 
ment of  different  religious  faiths,  Austria  is  so  liberal  as  to 
give  great  sorrow  to  the  Holy  Father,  who  regards  it  as  al- 
most a  kingdom  that  has  apostatized  from  the  faith. 

The  same  liberality  exists  in  other  things.  There  is  none 
of  the  petty  tyranny  which  in  former  days  vexed  the  souls  of 
foreigners,  by  its  strict  surveillance  and  espionage.  Now  no 
man  in  a  cocked  hat  demands  your  passport  as  you  enter  the 
city,  nor  asks  how  long  you  intend  to  stay ;  no  agent  of  the 
police  hangs  about  your  table  at  a  public  cafe  to  overhear 
your  private  conversation,  and  learn  if  you  are  a  political 
emissary,  a  conspirator  in  disguise ;  no  officer  in  the  street 
taps  you  on  your  shoulder  to  warn  you  not  to  speak  so  loud, 
or  to  be  more  careful  of  what  you  say.  You  are  as  free  to 
come  and  go  as  in  America,  while  the  restrictions  of  the 
Custom  House  are  far  less  annoying  and  vexatious  than  in 
the  United  States.  All  this  is  the  blessed  fruit  of  Austria's 
humiliation. 

It  should  be  said  to  the  praise  of  the  Emperor,  that  he  has 
taken  his  discipline  exceedingly  well.  He  has  not  pouted  or 
sulked,  like  an  angry  schoolboy,  or  refused  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  powers  which  have  inflicted  upon  him  such 
grievous  humiliations.  He  has  the  good  sense  to  recognize 
the  political  necessities  of  States  as  superior  to  the  feelings 
of  individuals.  Kings,  like  other  men,  must  bow  to  the 
inevitable.  Accordingly  he  makes  the  best  of  the  case.  He 
did  not  refuse  to  meet  Napoleon  after  the  battle  of  Solferino, 
but  held  an  interview  of  some  hours  aj,  Villafranca,  in  which, 
without  long  preliminaries,  they  agreed  on  an  immediate 
peace.  He  afterwards  visited  his  brother  Emperor  in  Paris 
at  the  time  of  the  Great  Exposition  in  1867.  Within  the 
last  year  he  has  paid  a  visit  to  Victor  Emmanuel  at  Venice, 
and  been  received  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm  by  the  Italian 
people.  They  can  afford  to  welcome  him  now  that  he  is  no 
longer  their  master.     Since  they  have  not  to  see  in  him  a 


AUSTRIA OLD    AND    NEW.  159 

despotic  ruler,  they  hail  him  as  the  nation's  guest,  and  as  he 
sails  up  the  Grand  Canal,  receive  him  with  loud  cheers  and 
waving  of  banners.  And  he  has  received  more  than  once 
the  visits  of  the  Emperor  William,  who  came  to  Vienna  at 
the  time  of  the  Exposition  two  years  since,  and  who  has  met 
him  at  a  watering-place  this  summer,  of  which  the  papers 
gave  full  accounts,  dwelling  on  their  hearty  cordiality,  as 
shown  in  their  repeated  hand-shakings  and  em  bracings.  It 
may  be  said  that  these  are  little  things,  but  they  are  not 
little  things,  for  such  personal  courtesies  have  a  great  deal  to 
do  with  the  peace  of  nations. 

In  another  respect,  the  discipline  of  adversity  has  been 
most  useful  to  Austria.  By  hard  blows  it  has  knocked  the 
military  spirit  out  of  her,  and  led  her  to  "  turn  her  thoughts 
on  peace."  Of  course  the  military  element  is  still  very 
strong.  Vienna  is  full  of  soldiers.  Every  morning  we  hear 
the  drum  beat  under  our  windows,  and  files  of  soldiers  go 
inarching  through  the  streets.  Huge  barracks  are  in  every 
part  of  the  city,  and  a  general  parade  would  show  a  force  of 
many  thousands  of  men.  The  standing  army  of  Austria  is 
one  of  the  largest  in  Europe.  But  in  spite  of  all  this  parade 
and  show,  the  military  spirit  is  much  less  rampant  than 
before.  Nobody  wants  to  go  to  war  with  any  of  the  Great 
Powers.     They  have  had  enough  of  war  for  the  present. 

Austria  has  learned  that  there  is  another  kind  of  greatness 
for  nations  than  that  gained  in  lighting  battles,  viz.,  cultivat- 
ing the  arts  of  peace.  Hence  it  is  that  within  the  last  nine 
years,  while  there  have  been  no  victories  abroad,  there  have 
been  great  victories  at  home.  There  has  been  an  enormous 
development  of  the  internal  resources  of  the  country.  Hail- 
roads  have  been  extended  all  over  the  Empire  ;  commerce  has 
been  quickened  to  a  new  life.  Great  steamers  passing  up 
and  down  the  Danube,  exchange  the  products  of  the  East 
and  the  West,  of  Europe  and  Asia.  Enterprises  of  all  kinds 
have  been  encouraged.     The  result  was  shown  in  the  Expo- 


160  AUSTRIA— OLD   AND    SEW. 

sition  of  two  years  ago,  when  there  was  collected  in  this  city 
such  a  display  of  the  products  of  all  lands,  as  the  world  had 
never  seen.  Those  who  had  been  at  all  the  Great  Exhibi- 
tions said  that  it  far  surpassed  those  of  London  and  Paris. 
All  the  luxurious  fabrics  of  the  East,  and  all  the  most  deli- 
cate and  the  most  costly  products  of  the  West,  the  fruit  of 
manifold  inventions  and  discoveries — with  all  that  had  been 
achieved  in  the  useful  arts,  the  arts  whose  success  constitutes 
civilization — were  there  spread  before  the  dazzled  eye.  Such 
a  Victory  of  Peace  could  not  have  been  achieved  without  the 
previous  lesson  of  Defeat  in  War. 

Still  further  learning  wisdom  from  her  conquerors,  Austria 
has  entered  upon  a  general  system  of  education,  modelled 
upon  that  of  Prussia,  which  in  the  course  of  another  genera- 
tion will  transform  the  heterogeneous  populations  spread  over 
the  vast  provinces,  extending  from  Italy  and  Germany  to 
Turkey,  which  make  up  the  thirty-four  millions  of  the  Aus- 
trian Empire. 

Thus  in  many  ways  Austria  has  abandoned  her  traditional 
conservative  policy,  and  entered  on  the  road  of  progress. 
She  may  now  be  fairly  reckoned  among  the  liberal  nations  of 
Europe.  The  Roman  Catholic  religion  is  still  the  recognized 
religion  of  the  State,  but  the  Pope  has  lost  that  control  which 
he  had  a  few  years  ago  ;  Vienna  is  much  more  independent 
of  Pome,  and  Protestants  have  quite  as  much  liberty  oiopin- 
ioni  and  I  think  more  liberty  of  worship ,  than  in  Republican 
Prance. 

Of  course  there  is  still  much  in  the  order  of  things  which 
is  not  according  to  our  American  ideas.  Austria  is  an  ancient 
monarchy,  and  all  civil  and  even  social  relations  are  framed 
on  the  monarchical  system.  Everything  revolves  around  the 
Emperor,  as  the  centre  of  the  whole.  We  visit  palace  after 
palace,  and  are  told  that  all  are  for  the  Emperor.  Even  his 
stables  are  one  of  the  sights  of  Vienna,  where  hundreds  of 
blooded  horses  are  for  the  use  of   the  Imperial  household. 


AUSTRIA OLD    AND    NEW.  161 

There  are  carriages,  too  many  to  be  counted,  covered  with 
gold,  for  four,  six,  or  eight  horses.  One  of  these  is  two 
hundred  years  old,  with  panels  decorated  with  paintings  by 
Rubens.  It  seems,  indeed,  as  if  in  these  old  monarchies  the 
sovereign  applied  to  himself,  with  an  arrogance  approaching 
to  blasphemy,  the  language  which  belongs  to  God  alone — that 
"  of  him,  and  through  him,  and  to  him,  are  all  things." 

Personally  I  can  well  believe  that  the  Emperor  is  a  very 
amiable  as  well  as  highly  intelligent  man,  and  that  he  seeks 
the  good  of  his  people.  He  has  been  trained  in  the  school  of 
adversity,  and  has  learned  that  empires  may  not  last  forever 
and  that  dynasties  may  be  overthrown.  History  is  full  of 
warnings  against  royal  pride  and  ambition.  Who  can  stand 
by  the  coffin  of  poor  Maria  Louisa,  as  it  lies  in  the  crypt  of 
the  Church  of  the  Capuchins,  without  thinking  of  the  strange 
fate  of  that  descendant  of  Maria  Theresa,  married  to  the 
Great  Napoleon  ?  In  the  Royal  Treasury  here,  they  show 
the  cradle,  wrought  in  the  rarest  woods,  inlaid  with  pearl  and 
gold,  and  lined  with  silk,  that  was  made  for  the  infant  son  of 
Napoleon,  the  little  King  of  Rome.  What  dreams  of  ambi- 
tion hovered  about  that  royal  cradle  !  How  strange  seemed 
the  contrast  when  we  visited  the  Palace  at  Schonbrunn,  and 
entered  the  room  which  Napoleon  occupied  when  he  besieged 
Vienna,  and  saw  the  very  bed  in  which  he  slept,  and  were 
told  that  in  that  same  bed  the  young  Napoleon  afterwards 
breathed  his  last !  So  perished  the  dream  of  ambition.  The 
young  child  for  whom  Napoleon  had  divorced  Josephine  and 
married  Maria  Louisa,  who  was  to  perpetuate  the  proud 
Imperial  line,  died  far  from  France,  while  his  father  had 
already  ended  his  days  on  the  rock  of  St.  Helena ! 

But  personally  no  one  scan  help  a  kindly  feeling  towards 
the  Emperor,  and  towards  the  young  Empress  also,  as  he  hears 
of  her  virtues  and  her  charities. 

Nor  can  one  help  liking  the  Viennese  and  the  Austrians. 
They  are  very  courteous  and  very  polite — rather  more  so,  if 


162  AUSTRIA — OLD   AND    NEW. 

the  truth  must  be  told,  than  their  German  neighbors-  Per- 
haps great  prosperity  has  been  bad  for  the  Prussians,  as  adver- 
sity has  been  good  for  the  Austrians.  At  any  rate  the  former 
have  the  reputation  in  Europe  of  being  somewhat  brusque  in 
their  manners.  Perhaps  they  also  need  a  lesson  in  humilia- 
tion, which  may  come  in  due  time.  But  the  Austrians  are 
proverbially  a  polite  people.  They  are  more  like  the  French. 
They  are  gay  and  fond  of  pleasure,  but  they  have  that  instinct- 
ive courtesy,  which  gives  such  a  charm  to  social  intercourse. 

And  so  we  go  away  from  Vienna  with  a  kindly  feeling  for 
the  dear  old  city — only  hoping  it  may  not  be  spoiled  by  too 
many  improvements — and  with  best  wishes  for  both  Kaiser 
and  people.  They  have  had  a  hard  time,  but  it  has  done  them 
good.  By  such  harsh  instruments,  by  a  discipline  very  bitter 
indeed,  but  necessary,  has  the  life  of  this  old  empire  been 
renewed.  Thus  aroused  from  its  lethargy,  it  has  shaken  off 
the  past,  and  entered  on  a  course  of  peaceful  progress  with 
the  foremost  nations  of  Europe.  Those  who  talk  of  the 
"  effete  despotisms  "  of  the  Old  World,  would  be  amazed  at 
the  signs  of  vitality  in  this  old  but  not  decaying  empire. 
Austria  is  to-day  one  of  the  most  prosperous  countries  in 
Europe.  There  is  fresh  blood  at  her  heart,  and  fresh  life 
coursing  through  her  aged  limbs.  And  though  no  man  or 
kingdom  can  be  said  to  be  master  of  the  future,  it  has  as  fair 
a  chance  of  long  existence  as  any  other  power  on  the  conti- 
nent. The  form  of  government  may  be  changed ;  there  may 
be  internal  revolutions ;  Bohemia  may  obtain  a  separate 
government  like  Hungary;  but  whatever  may  come,  there 
will  always  be  a  great  and  powerful  State  in  Eastern  Europe, 
on  the  waters  of  the  Danube. 

We  observed  to-day  that  they  were  repairing  St.  Stephen's, 
and  were  glad  to  think  that  that  old  cathedral,  which  has 
stood  for  so  many  ages,  and  whose  stone  pavement  has  been 
worn  by  the  feet  of  many  generations,  may  stand  for  a  thou- 
sand years  to  come.     May  that  tower,  which  has  looked  down 


AUSTRIA — OLD    AND    NEW.  IG3 

on  so  many  battle-fields,  as  the  tide  of  war  has  ebbed  and 
flowed  around  the  walls  of  Vienna,  hereafter  behold  from  its 
height  no  more  scenes  of  carnage  like  that  of  Wagram,  but 
only  see  gathered  around  its  base  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
of  European  capitals — the  heart  of  a  great  and  prosperous 
Empire. 


104 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

A  MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S  DREAM. — OUT-DOOR   LIFE    OF   THE 
GERMAN   PEOPLE. 

Vienna,  August  13th. 

No  description  of  Germany — no  picture  of  German  life 
and  manners — can  be  complete  which  does  not  give  some  ac- 
count of  the  out-door  recreations  of  the  people ;  for  this  is  a 
large  part  of  their  existence  ;  it  is  a  feature  of  their  national 
character,  and  an  important  element  in  their  national  life. 
To  know  a  people  well,  one  must  see  them  not  only  in  busi- 
ness, but  in  their  lighter  hours.  One  may  travel  through 
Germany  from  the  Baltic  to  the  Adriatic,  and  see  all  the 
palaces  and  museums  and  picture  galleries,  and  yet  be 
wholly  ignorant  of  the  people.  But  if  he  has  the  good  for- 
tune to  know  a  single  German  family  of  the  better  class,  into 
which  he  may  be  received,  not  as  a  stranger,  but  as  a  guest 
and  a  friend — where  he  can  see  the  interior  of  a  German 
home,  and  mark  the  strong  affection  of  parents  and  children, 
of  brothers  and  sisters — he  will  get  a  better  idea  of  the  real 
character  of  the  people,  than  by  months  of  living  in  hotels. 
Next  to  the  sacred  interior  of  the  home,  the  public  garden 
is  the  place  where  the  German  appears  with  least  formality 
and  disguise,  and  in  his  natural  character. 

Since  I  came  to  Europe,  I  have  been  in  no  mood  to  seek 
amusement.  Indeed  if  I  had  followed  my  own  impulse,  it 
would  have  been  to  shun  every  public  resort,  to  live  a  very 
solitary  life,  going  only  to  the  most  retired  places,  and  seek- 
ing only  absolute  seclusion  and  repose.  But  that  is  not  good 
for  us  in  moments  of  sorrow.     The  mind  is  apt  to  become 


OUT-DOOR    LIFE    OF    THE    GERMAN    PEOrLE.  165 

morbid  and  gloomy.  This  is  not  the  lesson  which  those  who 
have  gone  before  would  have  us  learn.  On  the  contrary, 
they  desire  to  have  us  happy,  and  bid  us  with  their  dying 
breath  seek  new  activity,  new  scenes,  and  new  mental  occu- 
pation, to  bind  us  to  life. 

Besides,  I  have  had  not  only  myself  to  consider,  but  a 
young  life  beside  me.  In  addition  to  that,  we  have  now  a 
third  member  of  our  party.  At  Hamburg  we  were  joined  by 
my  nephew,  a  lieutenant  in  the  Navy,  who  is  attached  to  the 
flagship  Franklin,  now  cruising  in  the  Baltic,  and  who  ob- 
tained leave  of  absence  for  a  month  to  join  his  sister,  and  is 
travelling  with  us  in  Germany.  He  is  a  fine  young  officer, 
full  of  life,  and  enters  into  everything  with  the  greatest  zest. 
So,  beguiled  by  these  two  young  spirits,  I  have  been  led  to 
see  more  than  I  otherwise  should  of  the  open-air  life  and 
recreations  of  these  simple-hearted  Germans ;  and  I  will 
briefly  describe  what  I  have  seen,  as  the  basis  of  one  or  two 
reflections. 

To  begin  with  Hamburg.  This  is  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful cities  in  Germany.  One  part  is  indeed  old  and  dingy,  in 
which  the  narrow  streets  are  overhung  with  houses  of  a  for- 
mer century,  now  gone  to  decay.  But  as  we  go  back  from 
the  liver,  we  mount  higher,  and  come  into  an  entirely  different 
town,  with  wide  streets,  lined  with  large  and  imposing  build- 
ings. This  part  of  the  city  was  swept  by  a  great  fire  a  few 
years  ago,  and  has  been  very  handsomely  rebuilt.  But  the 
peculiar  beauty  of  Hamburg  is  formed  by  a  small  stream,  the 
Alster,  which  runs  through  the  city,  and  empties  into  the 
Elbe,  and  which  is  dammed  up  so  as  to  form  what  is  called 
by  courtesy  a  lake,  and  what  is  certainly  a  very  pretty  sheet 
of  water.  Around  this  are  grouped  the  largest  hotels,  and 
some  of  the  finest  buildings  of  the  city,  and  this  is  the  centre 
of  its  joyous  life,  especially  at  the  close  of  the  day.  When 
evening  comes  on,  all  Hamburg  flocks  to  the  "  Alster-dam." 
Our  hotel  was  on  this  lake,  and  from  our  windows  we  had 


166  A   MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S   DREAM. 

every  evening  the  most  animated  scene.  The  water  was 
covered  with  boats,  among  which  the  swans  glided  about 
without  fear.  The  quays  were  lighted  up  brilliantly,  and 
the  cafes  swarmed  with  people,  all  enjoying  the  cool  evening 
air.  Both  sexes  and  all  ages  were  abroad  to  share  in  the 
general  gayety  of  the  hour. 

|  Some  rigid  moralists  might  look  upon  this  with  stern  eyes, 
as  if  it  were  a  scene  of  sinful  enjoyment,  as  if  men  had  no 
right  thus  to  be  happy  in  this  wicked  world.  But  I  confess  I 
looked  upon  it  with  very  different  feelings.  The  enjoyment 
was  of  the  most  simple  and  innocent  kind.  Families  were 
all  together,  father  and  mother,  brothers  and  sisters,  while 
little  children  ran  about  at  play.  I  have  rarely  looked  on  a 
prettier  scene,  and  although  I  had  no  part  nor  lot  in  it, 
although  I  was  a  stranger  there,  and  walked  among  these 
crowds  alone,  still  it  did  my  heart  good  to  see  that  there  was 
so  much  happiness  in  this  sad  and  weary  world. 

From  Hamburg  we  came  to  Berlin,  where  the  same  features 
were  reproduced  on  a  larger  scale.  As  we  drove  through 
the  streets  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  we  passed  a  large  public 
garden,  brilliantly  lighted  up,  and  thronged  with  people*, 
from  which  came  the  sound  of  music,  and  were  told  that  it 
was  one  of  the  most  fashionable  resorts  of  the  capital ;  and 
so  the  next'evening — after  a  day  at  Potsdam,  where  we  were 
wearied  with  sight-seeing — we  took  our  rest  here.  Imagine 
a  vast  enclosure  lighted  up  with  hundreds  of  gas-jets,  and 
thronged  with  thousands  of  people,  with  three  bands  of  music 
to  relieve  each  other.  There  were  hundreds  of  little  tables, 
each  with  its  group  around  it,  all  chatting  with  the  utmost 
animation. 

The  next  day  we  drove  to  Charlottenburg,  to  visit  the  old 
palaces  and  the  exquisite  mausoleum  of  the  beautiful  Queen 
Louise,  and  on  our  return  stopped  to  take  our  dinner  at  the 
Flora — an  enclosure  of  several  acres,  laid  out  like  a  bo- 
tanical garden.     A  large  conservatory,  called  the  Palm  Gar* 


OUT-DOOR    LIFE   OF    THE    GERMAN    PEOPLE.  107 

den,  keeps  under  cover  such  rare  plants  and  trees  as  would 
not  grow  in  the  cold  climate ;  and  here  one  is  in  a  tropical 
scene.  This  answers  the  purpose  of  a  Winter  Garden,  as 
great  banks  of  flowers  and  of  rare  plants  are  in  full  bloom 
all  the  winter  long  ;  and  here  the  rank  and  fashion  of  Ber- 
lin can  gather  in  winter,  and  with  the  air  filled  with  the  per- 
fume of  flowers,  forget  the  scene  without — the  naked  trees 
and  bitter  winds  and  drifting  snows — while  listening  to 
musical  concerts  given  in  an  immense  hall,  capable  of  holding 
several  thousand  people.  These  are  the  festivities  of  win- 
ter. But  now,  as  it  is  midsummer,  the  people  prefer  to  be 
out  of  doors  ;  and  here,  seated  among  the  rest,  we  take  our 
dinner,  entertained  (as  sovereigns  are  wont  to  entertain  their 
royal  guests  at  State  dinners)  with  a  band  of  music  in  the 
intervals  of  the  feast,  which  gives  a  new  zest,  a  touch  of  Ori- 
ental luxury,  to  our  very  simple  repast. 

At  Dresden  we  were  at  the  Hotel  Bellevue,  which  is  close  to 
the  Elbe,  and  there  was  a  public  garden  on  the  bank  of  the 
river,  right  under  our  windows.  Every  evening  we  sat  on 
the  terrace  attached  to  the  hotel,  and  heard  the  music,  and 
watched  the  pleasure  boats  darting  up  and  down  the  river. 

But  of  all  the  cities  of  Germany,  the  one  where  this  out- 
door life  is  carried  to  the  greatest  perfection,  is  here  in 
Vienna.  We  arrived  when  the  weather  was  very  hot.  For 
the  first  time  this  summer  in  Europe  we  were  really  op- 
pressed with  the  heat.  The  sun  blazed  fiercely,  and  as  we 
drove  about  the  city  seeing  sights,  we  felt  that  we  were  mar- 
tyrs suffering  in  a  good  cause.  We  were  told  that  the  heat 
was  very  unusual.  The  only  relief  and  restoration  after  such 
days  was  an  evening  ride.  So  as  the  sun  was  setting  we  took 
a  carriage  and  made  the  circuit  of  the  King-strasse,  the  boule- 
vards laid  out  on  the  site  of  the  old  walls,  ending  with  the 
Prater,  that  immense  park,  where  two  years  ago  the  Great 
Exposition  was  held,  and  where  the  buildings  still  stand. 
This  is  the  place  of  concourse  of  the  Viennese  on  gala  days, 


168  A   MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S    DREAM. 

when  the  Emperor  turns  out,  and  all  the  Austrian  and  Hun- 
garian nobility,  with  their  splendid  equipages  (the  Hungari- 
ans have  an  Oriental  fondness  for  gilded  trappings),  making 
a  sight  which  is  said  to  be  more  dazzling  than  can  be  seen 
oven  in  the  Hyde  Park  of  London,  or  the  Bois  de  Boulogne 
at  Paris.  Just  now,  of  course,  all  this  fashionable  element 
has  fled  the  city,  and  is  enjoying  life  at  the  German  watering 
places.  But  as  there  are  still  left  seven  or  eight  hundred 
thousand  people,  they  must  find  some  way  to  bear  the  heats 
of  summer  ;  and  so  they  flock  to  the  Prater.  The  trees  are  all 
ablaze  with  light ;  half  a  dozen  bands  of  music  are  in  full 
blast,  and  "  all  the  world  is  gay."  It  is  truly  u  a  midsum- 
mer night's  dream."  I  was  especially  attracted  to  a  concert 
garden  where  the  band,  a  very  large  one,  was  composed  of 
women.  To  be  sure  there  were  half  "a  dozen  men  sprinkled 
among  the  performers,  but  they  seemed  to  have  subordinate 
parts — only  blowing  away  at  the  wind  instruments — while 
all  the  stringed  instruments  were  played  by  delicate  female 
hands.  It  was  quite  pretty  to  see  how  deftly  they  held  the 
violins,  and  what  sweet  music  they  wrung  from  the  strings. 
Two  or  three  young  maidens  stood  beside  the  bass-viols, 
which  were  taller  than  themselves,  and  a  trim  figure,  that 
might  have  been  that  of  a  French  vivandiere,  beat  the  drum. 
The  conductor  was  of  course  a  woman,  and  marshalled  her 
forces  with  wonderful  spirit.  I  don't  know  whether  the 
music  was  very  fine  or  not  (fori  am  not  a  judge  in  such  mat- 
ters), but  I  applauded  vigorously,  because  I  liked  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  thing,  and  have  some  admiration,  if  not 
sympathy,  for  the  spirit  of  those  heroic  reformers,  who  wish 
to  u  put  down  these  men." 

But  the  chief  musical  glory  of  Vienna  is  the  Yolksgarten, 
where  Strauss's  famous  band  plays,  and  there  we  spent  our 
last  night  in  Vienna.  It  is  an  enclosure  near  the  Palace, 
and  the  grounds  belong  to  the  Emperor,  who  gives  the  use  of 
them  (so  v»e  were  told)  to  the  son  of  his  old  nurse,  who  de- 


OUT-DOOR    LIFE    OF    TIIE    GERMAN    PEOPLE.  1G9 

votes  them  to  the  purpose  of  a  public  garden,  and  to  musical 
concerts.  Besides  Strauss's  band,  there  was  a  military  band, 
which  played  alternately.  As  we  entered  it  was  executing  an 
air  which  my  companions  recognized  as  from  "  William  Tell," 
and  they  pointed  out  to  me  the  beautiful  passages — those 
which  imitated  the  Alpine  horns,  etc.  Then  Strauss  came  to 
the  front — not  Johann  (who  has  become  so  famous  that  the 
Emperor  has  appropriated,  him  to  himself,  so  that  he  can 
now  play  only  for  the  royai  family  and  their  guests),  but  his 
brother,  Edward.  He  is  a  .  ittle  man,  whose  body  seems  to 
be  set  on  springs,  and  to  be  put  in  motion  by  music.  While 
leading  the  orchestra,  of  some  forty  performers,  he  was  as 
one  inspired — he  fairly  danced  with  excitement ;  it  seemed 
as  if  he  hardly  touched  the  earth,  but  floated  in  air,  his  body 
swaying  hither  and  thither  to  the  sound  of  music.  When  he 
had  finished,  the  military  band  responded,  and  so  it  continued 
the  whole  evening. 

The  garden  was  illuminated  not  only  with  gas  lamps,  but 
with  other  lights  not  set  down  in  the  programme.  The  day 
had  been  terribly  hot,  and  as  we  drove  to  the  garden,  dark 
masses  of  cloud  were  gathering,  and  soon  the  rain  began  to 
come  down  in  earnest,  The  people  who  were  sitting  under 
the  trees  took  refuge  in  the  shelter  of  the  large  hall ;  and 
there,  while  incessant  flashes  of  lightning  lighted  up  the 
garden  without,  the  martial  airs  of  the  military  band  were 
answered  by  the  roll  of  the  thunder.  This  was  an  unex- 
pected accompaniment  to  the  music,  but  it  was  very  grate- 
ful, as  it  at  once  cleared  and  cooled  the  air,  and  gave 
promise  of  a  pleasant  day  for  travelling  on  the  morrow. 

I  might  describe  many  similar  scenes,  though  less  brilliant, 
in  every  German  city,  but  these  are  enough  to  give  a  picture 
of  the  open-air  life  and  recreations  of  the  German  people. 
And  now  for  the  moral  of  the  tale.  What  is  the  influence 
of  this  kind  of  life — is  it  good  or  bad  ?  What  lesson  does 
it  teach   to  us  Americans  ?     Does  it  furnish  an  example  to 


170  A   MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S   DREAM. 

imitate,  or  a  warning  to  avoid  ?  Perhaps  something  of 
both. 

Certainly  it  is  a  good  thing  that  it  leads  the  people  to 
spend  some  hours  of  every  day  in  the  open  air.  During 
hours  of  business  they  are  in  their  offices  or  their  shops,  and 
they  need  a  change ;  and  anything  which  tempts  them  out 
of  doors  is  a  physical  benefit ;  it  quiets  their  nerves,  and 
cools  their  blood,  and  prepares  them  for  refreshing  sleep.  So 
far  it  is  good.  Every  open  space  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
population  is  so  much  breathing  space ;  the  parks  of  a  city 
are  rightly  called  its  lungs  /  and  it  is  a  good  thing  if  once  a 
day  all  classes,  rich  and  poor,  young  and  old,  can  get  a  long 
draught  of  fresh,  pure  air,  as  if  they  were  in  the  country. 

Next  to  the  pleasure  of  sitting  in  the  open  air,  the  attrac- 
tion of  these  places  is  the  music.  The  Germans  are  a  music- 
loving  people.  Luther  was  an  enthusiast  for  music,  and 
called  any  man  a  fool,  a  dull,  heavy  dolt,  whose  blood  was 
not  stirred  by  martial  airs  or  softer  melodies.  In  this  he  is 
a  good  type  of  the  German  people.  This  taste  is  at  once  cul- 
tivated and  gratified  by  what  they  hear  at  these  public  re- 
sorts. I  cannot  speak  with  authority  on  such  matters,  but  my 
companions  identified  almost  every  air  that  was  played  as 
from  some  celebrated  piece  of  music,  the  work  of  some  great 
master,  all  of  whom  are  familiar  in  Germany  from  Mozart  to 
Mendelssohn.  The  constant  repetition  of  such  music  by 
competent  and  trained  bands,  cannot  but  have  a  great  effect 
upon  the  musical  education  of  the  people. 

And  this  delightful  recreation  is  furnished  very  cheaply. 
Tn  New  York  to  hear  Nilsson,  opera-goers  pay  three  or  four 
dollars.  But  here  admission  to  the  Volksgarten,  the  most 
fashionable  resort  in  Vienna,  is  but  a  florin  (about  fifty 
cents)  ;  to  the  Flora,  in  Berlin,  it  was  but  a  mark,  which  is 
of  the  value  of  an  English  shilling,  or  a  quarter  of  a  dollar ; 
while  many  of  the  public  gardens  are  free,  the  only  compen- 
sation being  what  is  paid  for  refreshments. 


OUT-DOOR   LIFE    OF   THE    GERMAN    PEOPLE.  171 

One  other  feature  of  this  open-air  life  and  recreation  has 
been  very  delightful  to  me — its  domestic  character.  It  is 
not  a  solitary,  selfish  kind  of  pleasure,  as  when  men  go  off  by 
themselves  to  drink  or  gamble,  or  indulge  in  any  kind  of 
dissipation.  When  men  go  to  these  public  gardens,  on  the 
contrary,  they  take  their  wives  and  their  sisters  with  them. 
Often  we  see  a  whole  family,  down  to  the  children,  grouped 
around  one  of  these  tables.  They  sit  there  as  they  would 
around  their  own  tea-table  at  home.  The  family  life  is  not 
broken  by  this  taking  of  their  pleasure  in  public.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  rather  strengthened  ;  all  the  family  ties  are 
made  the  closer  by  sharing  their  enjoyments  together. 

And  these  pleasures  are  not  only  domestic,  but  democratic 
They  are  not  for  the  rich  only,  but  for  all  classes.  Even 
the  poor  can  afford  the  few  pence  necessary  for  such  an 
evening,  and  find  in  listening  to  such  music  in  the  open  air 
the  cheapest,  as  well  as  the  simplest  and  purest  enjoyment. 

The  drawbacks  to  these  public  gardens  are  two — the  smok- 
ing and  the  beer-drinking.  There  are  hundreds  of  tables,  each 
with  a  group  around  it,  all  drinking  beer,  and  the  men  all 
smoking.  These  features  I  dislike  as  much  as  anybody.  I 
never  smoked  a  cigar  in  my  life,  and  do  not  doubt  that  it 
would  make  me  deadly  sick.  Mr.  Spurgeon  may  say  that  he 
"  smokes  a  cigar  to  the  glory  of  God  "  ;  that  as  it  quiets  his 
nerves  and  gives  him  a  sound  night's  sleep,  it  is  a  means  of 
grace  to  him.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  it  is  not  a  means  of 
grace  to  rae,  and  that  as  I  have  been  frequently  annoyed  and 
almost  suffocated  by  it,  I  am  afraid  it  has  provoked  feelings 
anything  but  Christian. 

As  for  the  drinking,  there  is  one  universal  beverage — beer. 
This  is  a  thin,  watery  fluid,  such  as  one  might  make  by  put- 
ting a  spoonful  of  bitter  herbs  in  a  teapot  and  boiling  them. 
To  me  it  seemed  like  cold  water  spoiled.  Yet  others  argue 
that  it  is  cold  water  improved.  On  this  question  I  have 
had  many  discussions  since  I  came  to  Germany.     The  people 


172  A    MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S    DREAM. 

take  to  beer  as  a  thing  of  course,  as  if  it  were  the  beverage 
that  nature  had  provided  to  assuage  their  thirst,  and  when 
they  talk  to  you  in  a  friendly  way,  will  caution  you  especially 
to  beware  of  drinking  the  water  of  the  country  !  Why  they 
should  think  this  dangerous,  I  cannot  understand,  for  surely 
they  do  not  drink  enough  of  it  to  do  them  any  harm.  Of 
course,  in  passing  from  country  to  country,  one  needs  to  use 
prudence  in  drinking  the  water,  as  in  other  changes  of  diet, 
but  the  danger  from  that  source  is  greatly  exaggerated. 
Certainly  I  have  drunk  of  water  freely  everywhere  in  Eu- 
rope, without  any  injury.  Yet  an  American  physician,  who 
certainly  has  no  national  prejudice  in  favor  of  beer,  gravely 
argues  with  me  that  it  is  the  most  simple,  refreshing,  and 
healthful  beverage,  and  points  to  the  physique  of  the  Ger- 
mans in  proof  that  it  does  them  no  injury.  Perhaps  used 
in  moderation,  it  may  not.  But  certainly  no  argument  will 
convince  me  that  drinking  it  in  such  quantities  as  some  do — 
eight,  ten,  or  a  dozen  quart  mugs  a  day  ! — is  not  injurious. 
When  a  man  thus  swills  beer — there  is  no  other  word  to  ex- 
press it — he  seems  to  me  like  a  pig  at  the  trough. 

But  of  course  I  do  not  mean  that  the  greater  number  of 
Germans  drink  it  in  any  such  quantities,  or  to  a  degree  that 
would  be  considered  excessive,  if  it  is  to  be  drunk  at  all.  I 
was  at  first  shocked  to  see  men  and  women  with  these  foam- 
ing goblets  before  them,  but  I  observed  that,  instead  of  drink- 
ing them  off  at  a  draught  as  those  who  take  stronger  drinks 
are  wont  to  do,  they  let  them  stand,  occasionally  taking  a  sip, 
a  single  glass  often  lasting  the  whole  evening.  Indeed  it 
seemed  as  if  many  ordered  a  glass  of  beer  on  entering  a  pub- 
lic garden,  rather  as  a  matter  of  custom,  and  as  a  way  of 
paying  for  the  music.  For  this  they  gave  a  few  kreutzers 
(equal  to  a  few  pence),  and  for  such  a  trifle  had  the  freedom 
of  the  garden,  and  the  privilege  of  listening  to  excellent 
music. 

But  if  we  cannot  enter  into  any  eulogium  of  German  beer, 


OUT-DOOR    LIFE    OF    THE    GEUMAN    PEOPLE.  173 

at  least  it  has  this  negative  virtue :  it  does  not  make  people 
drunk.  It  is  not  like  the  heavy  ales  or  porters  of  England. 
This  is  a  fact  of  immense  consequence,  that  the  universal 
beverage  of  forty  millions  of  people  is  not  intoxicating.  Of 
course  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  it  is  impossible  for  one  to 
have  his  head  swim  by  taking  it  in  some  enormous  quantity. 
I  only  give  my  own  observation,  which  is  that  I  have  seen 
thousands  taking  their  beer,  and  never  saw  one  in  any  degree 
affected  by  it.  I  give,  therefore,  the  evidence  of  my  senses, 
when  I  say  that  this  beer  does  not  make  men  drunk,  it  does 
not  steal  away  their  brains,  or  deprive  them  of  reason. 

No  reader  of  any  intelligence  can  be  so  silly  as  to  inter- 
pret this  simple  statement  of  a  fact  as  arguing  for  the  intro- 
duction of  beer  gardens  in  America.  They  are  coming  quite 
fast  enough.  [If  I  were  to  have  a  beer  garden,  it  should  be 
without  the  heer.~\  But  as  between  the  two,  I  do  say  that  the 
beer  gardens  of  Germany  are  a  thousand  times  better  than 
the  gin  shops  of  London,  or  even  the  elegant  "  sample 
rooms  "  of  New  York.  In  the  latter  men  drink  chiefly  fiery 
wines,  or  whiskey,  or  brandy,  or  rum ;  they  drink  what 
makes  them  beasts — what  sends  them  reeling  through  the 
streets,  to  carry  terror  to  their  miserable  homes ;  while  in 
Germany  men  drink  what  may  be  very  bitter  and  bad- 
tasting  stuff,  but  what  does  not  make  one  a  maniac  or  a  brute. 
No  man  goes  home  from  a  beer  garden  to  beat  his  wife  and 
children,  because  he  has  been  made  a  madman  by  intoxica- 
tion. On  the  contrary,  he  has  had  his  wife  and  children 
with  him ;  they  have  all  had  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  and 
enjoyed  a  good  time  together. 

Such  are  the  simple  pleasures  of  this  simple  German  people 
— a  people  that  love  their  homes,  their  wives  and  children, 
and  whatever  they  enjoy,  wish  to  enjoy  it  together. 

Now  may  we  not  learn  something  from  the  habits  of  a  foreign 
people,  as  to  how  to  provide  cheap  and  innocent  recreations 
for  our  own  ?     Is  there  not  some  way  of  getting  the  good 


174  A   MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S   DREAM. 

without  the  evil,  of  having  this  open-air  life  without  any  evil 
accompaniments  ?  The  question  is  one  of  recreation,  not  of 
amusements,  which,  is  another  thing,  to  be  considered  by 
itself.  In  these  public  gardens  there  are  no  games  of  any  kind 
— not  so  much  as  a  Punch  and  Judy,  or  a  hand-organ  with  a 
monkey — nothing  but  sitting  in  the  open  air,  enjoying  con- 
versation, and  listening  to  music. 

This  question  of  popular  recreations,  or  to  put  it  more 
broadly,  how  a  people  shall  spend  their  leisure  hours — hours 
when  they  are  not  at  work  nor  asleep — is  a  very  serious 
question,  and  one  closely  connected  with  public  morals.  In 
the  life  of  every  man  in  America,  even  of  the  hard-worked 
laborer,  there  are  several  hours  in  the  day  when  he  is  not 
bending  to  his  task,  and  when  he  is  not  taking  his  meals. 
The  work  of  the  day  is  over,  he  has  had  his  supper,  but  it  is 
not  time  to  go  to  bed.  From  seven  to  nine  o'clock  he  has  a 
couple  of  hours  of  leisure.  What  shall  he  do  with  them  ?  It 
may  be  said  he  ought  to  spend  them  in  reading.  No  doubt 
this  would  be  very  useful,  but  perhaps  the  poor  man  is  too 
jaded  to  fix  his  mind  on  a  book.  What  he  needs  is  diver- 
sion, recreation,  something  that  occupies  the  mind  without 
fatiguing  it ;  and  what  so  charming  as  to  sit  out  of  doors  in 
the  summer  time,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  and  listen  to 
music,  not  being  fixed  to  silence  as  in  a  concert  room,  but 
free  to  move  about,  and  talk  with  his  neighbors  ?  If  there 
could  be  in  every  large  town  such  a  retreat  under  the  shade 
of  the  trees,  where  tired  workmen  could  come,  and  bring 
their  wives  and  children  with  them,  it  would  do  a  great  deal 
to  keep  them  out  of  drinking  saloons  and  other  places  of  evil 
resort. 

For  want  of  something  of  this  kind  the  young  men  in  our 
cities  and  in  our  country  villages  seek  recreation  where  they 
can  find  it.  In  cities,  young  men  of  the  better  class  resort  to 
clubs.  This  club  life  has  eaten  into  the  domestic  life  of  bur 
American  families.     The  husband,  the  son  and  brother,  are 


OUT-DOOR    LIFE    OF    THE    GERMAN    PEOPLE.  175 

never  at  home.  Would  it  not  be  better  if  they  could 
have  some  simple  recreation  which  the  whole  family  could 
enjoy  together?  In  country  villages  young  men  meet  at  the 
tavern,  or  in  the  street,  for  want  of  a  little  company.  I  have 
seen  them,  by  twenty  or  thirty,  sitting  on  a  fence  in  a  row, 
like  barnyard  fowls,  where,  it  is  to  be  feared,  their  conversa- 
tion is  not  of  the  most  refined  character.  How  much  better 
for  these  young  fellows  to  be  somewhere  where  they  could  be 
with  their  mothers  and  sisters,  and  all  have  a  good  time 
together!  If  they  must  have  something  in  the  way  of 
refreshment  (although  I  do  not  see  the  need  of  anything ; 
"  have  they  not  their  houses  to  eat  and  drink  in  ?  "),  let  it 
be  of  the  simplest  kind — something  very  cheap,  for  they  have 
no  money  to  waste — and  something  which  shall  at  least  do 
them  no  injury — ices  and  lemonade,  with  plenty  of  what  is 
better  than  either  for  a  hot  summer  evening,  pure,  delicious 
cold  water. 

I  have  great  confidence  in  the  power  of  music,  especially  in 
that  which  is  popular  and  universal.  Expensive  concerts, 
with  celebrated  singers,  are  the  pleasure  of  the  rich.  But  a 
village  glee-club  or  singing-school  calls  out  home  talent,  and 
no  concert  is  so  like  a  country  fete  as  that  in  which  the  young 
folks  do  their  own  singing. 

With  these  pictures  of  German  life  and  manners,  and  the 
reflections  they  suggest,  I  leave  this  subject  of  Popular 
Recreations  to  those  who  are  older  and  wiser  than  I.  I 
know  that  the  subject  is  a  very  delicate  one  to  touch.  It  is 
easy  to  go  too  far,  and  to  have  one's  arguments  perverted  to 
abuse.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  I  stand  up  for  recrea- 
tion as  a  necessity  of  life.  Recreation  is  not  dissipation. 
Calvin  pitching  quoits  may  not  seem  to  us  quite  as  venerable 
a  figure  as  Calvin  writing  his  Institutes,  or  preaching  in  the 
Cathedral  of  Geneva;  and  yet  he  was  doing  what  was  just  as 
necessary.     The  mind  must  unbend,  and  the  body  too.      I 


17G  A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 

believe  hundreds  of  lives  are  lost  every  year  in  America  for 
want  of  this  timely  rest  and  recreation. 

Some  traveller  has  said  that  America  is  the  country  in 
which  there  is  less  suffering,  and  less  enjoyment,  than  ia 
any  other  country  in  the  world.  I  am  afraid  there  is  some 
truth  in  this.  Certainly  we  have  not  cultivated  the  art  of 
enjoying  ourselves.  We  are  too  busy.  We  are  all  the  time 
toiling  to  accumulate,  and  give  ourselves  little  time  to  enjoy. 
And  when  we  do  undertake  it,  it  is  a  very  solemn  business 
with  us.  Nothing  is  more  dreary  than  the  efforts  of  some 
of  our  good  people  to  enjoy  themselves.  They  do  not  know 
how,  and  make  an  awkward  shift  of  it.  They  put  it  off  to  a 
future  year,  when  their  work  shall  be  all  done,  and  they  will 
go  to  Europe,  and  do  up  their  travelling  as  a  big  job.  Thus 
their  very  pleasures  are  forced,  artificial,  and  expensive.  And 
little  pleasure  they  get  after  all !  Many  of  these  people  we 
have  met  wandering  about  Europe,  forlorn  and  wretched 
creatures,  exiles  from  their  own  country,  yet  not  at  home  in 
any  other.  They  have  not  learned  the  art,  which  the  Ger- 
mans might  teach  them,  of  simple  pleasures,  and  of  enjoying 
a  little  every  day.  This  American  habit  of  work  without 
rest,  is  a  wretched  economy  of  life,  which  can  be  justified 
neither  by  reason  nor  religion.  There  is  no  piety  in  such 
self-sacrifice  as  this,  since  it  is  for  no  good  object,  but  only 
from  a  selfish  and  miserly  greed  for  gain.  Men  were  not 
made  to  be  mere  drudges  or  slaves.  Hard  work,  duly  inter- 
mixed with  rest  and  recreation,  is  the  best  experience  for 
every  one  of  us,  and  the  true  means  by  which  we  can  best 
fulfil  our  duty  to  God  and  to  man. 

Religion  has  received  a  great  injury  when  it  has  been 
identified  with  asceticism  and  gloom.  If  there  is  any  class  of 
men  who  are  my  special  aversion,  it  is  those  moping,  melan- 
choly owls,  who  sit  on  the  tree  of  life,  and  frown  on  every 
innocent  human  joy.  Sorrow  I  can  understand  (for  I  have 
tasted  of  its  bitter  cup),  and  grief  of  every  kind,  penitence  for 


OUT-DOOK    LIt'E    OF    THE    GERMAN    PEOPLE.  177 

wrong,  and  deep  religious  emotion;  but  what  I  cannot  under- 
stand, nor  sympathize  with,  is  that  sour,  sullen,  morose  tem- 
per, which  looks  sternly  even  on  the  sports  of  children,  and 
would  hush  their  prattle  and  glee.  Such  a  system  of  repres- 
sion is  false  in  philosophy,  and  false  in  morals.  It  is  bad 
intellectually.  Never  was  a  truer  saying  than  that  in  the 
old  lines  : 

All  work  and  no  play 

Makes  Jack  a  dull  boy. 

And  it  is  equally  bad  for  the  moral  nature.  Fathers  and 
mothers,  you  must  make  your  children  happy,  if  you  would 
make  them  good.  You  must  surround  them  with  an  atmo- 
sphere of  affection  and  enjoyment,  if  you  would  teach  them 
to  love  you,  and  to  love  God.  It  is  when  held  close  in  their 
mothers'  arms,  with  tender  eyes  bent  over  them,  that  chil- 
dren first  get  some  faint  idea  of  that  Infinite  Love,  of  which 
maternal  fondness  is  but  the  faint  reflection.  How  wisely 
has  Cowper,  that  delicate  and  tender  moralist,  expressed  the 
proper  wish  of  children  : 

With  books,  or  work,  or  healthful  play, 

May  my  first  years  be  passed, 
That  I  may  give  for  every  day 

A  good  account  at  last. 

Such  a  happy  childhood  is  the  best  nursery  for  a  brave 
and  noble  manhood. 

I  write  on  this  subject  very  seriously,  for  I  know  of  few 
things  more  closely  connected  with  public  morals.  I  do  not 
argue  in  favor  of  recreation  because  seeking  any  indulgence 
for  myself.  I  have  been  as  a  stranger  in  all  these  scenes, 
and  never  felt  soberer  or  sadder  in  my  life  than  when  listen- 
ing for  hours  to  music.  But  what  concerns  one  only,  matters 
little ;  but  what  concerns  the  public  good,  matters  a  great 
deal.  Ard  I  give  my  opinion,  as  the  result  of  much  observa- 
tion, that  any  recreation  which  promotes  innocent  enjoyment, 
8* 


178  A    MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM. 

which  is  physically  healthy  and  morally  pure,  which  keeps 
families  together,  and  thus  unites  them  by  the  tie  of  common 
pleasures  (a  tie  only  less  strong  than  that  of  common  sorrow), 
is  a  social  influence  that  is  friendly  to  virtue,  and  to  all  which 
we  most  love  and  cherish,  and  on  the  whole  one  of  the  clean- 
est and  wholesomest  things  in  this  wicked  world. 

Often  in  my  dreams  I  think  of  that  better  time  which  is 
coming,  when  even  pleasure  shall  be  sanctified  ;  when  no 
human  joy  shall  be  cursed  by  being  mixed  with  sin  and 
followed  by  remorse;  when  all  our  happiness  shall  be  pure 
and  innocent,  such  as  God  can  smile  upon,  and  such  as  leaves 
no  sting  behind.  That  will  be  a  happy  world,  indeed,  when 
mutual  love  shall  bless  all  human  intercourse : 

Then  shall  wars  and  tumults  cease, 
Then  be  banished  grief  and  pain ; 

Righteousness,  and  joy,  and  peace, 
Undisturbed,  shall  ever  reign. 


THE    PASSION   PLAY   AND    SCHOOL   OF    THE    CROSS.         179 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE    PASSION   PLAY  AND    THE    SCHOOL   OF   THE   CROSS. 

Ober-Ammergatt,  Bavaria,  Aug.  22d. 

My  readers  probably  did  not  expect  to  hear  from  me  in 
this  lonely  and  remote  part  of  the  world.  Perhaps  some  of 
them  never  heard  of  snch  a  place  as  Ober-Ammergau,  and  do 
not  know  what  should  give  it  a  special  interest  above  hun- 
dreds of  other  places.  Let  me  explain.  Ober-Ammergau 
is  a  small  village  in  the  Bavarian  Alps,  where  for  the  last 
two  hundred  years  has  been  performed,  at  regular  intervals, 
the  Passion  Play — that  is,  a  dramatic  representation,  in 
which  are  enacted  before  us  the  principal  events,  and  particu- 
larly the  closing  scenes,  in  the  life  of  our  Lord.  The  idea  of 
such  a  thing,  when  first  suggested  to  a  Protestant  mind,  is 
not  only  strange,  but  repulsive  in  the  highest  degree.  It 
seems  like  holding  up  the  agonies  of  our  Saviour  to  public 
exhibition,  dragging  on  the  stage  that  which  should  remain 
an  object  of  secret  and  devout  meditation.  When  I  first 
heard  of  it — which  was  some  years  ago,  in  America — I  was 
shocked  at  what  seemed  the  gross  impiety  of  the  thing ;  and 
yet,  to  my  astonishment,  several  of  the  most  eminent  ministers 
of  the  city  of  New  York,  both  Episcopal  and  Presbyterian, 
who  had  witnessed  it,  told  me  that  it  was  performed  in  the 
most  religious  spirit,  and  had  produced  on  them  an  impres- 
sion of  deep  solemnity.  Such  representations  were  very 
common  in  the  Middle  Ages  ;  I  believe  they  continued  long- 
est in  Spain,  but  gradually  they  died  out,  till  now  this  is  the 
only  spot  in  Europe  where  the  custom  is  still  observed.  It 
has  thus  been  perpetuated  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow  made  two 


180         1HE    PASSION    PLAY    AND    SCHOOL    OP    THE    CROSS. 

centuries  ago  ;  and  here  ifc  may  be  continued  for  centuries  to 
come.  A  performance  so  extraordinary,  naturally  excites 
great  curiosity.  As  it  is  given  only  once  in  ten  years,  the 
interest  is  not  dulled  by  too  frequent  repetition ;  and  who- 
ever is  on  the  Continent  in  the  year  of  its  observance,  must 
needs  turn  aside  to  see  this  great  sight.  At  such  times  this 
little  mountain  village  is  thronged  with  visitors,  not  only 
from  Bavaria  and  other  Catholic  countries,  but  from  England 
and  America. 

This  is  not  the  year  for  its  performance.  It  was  given  in 
1870,  and  being  interrupted  by  the  Franco-German  war,  was 
resumed  and  completed  in  1871.  The  next  regular  year 
will  be  1880.  But  this  year,  which  is  midway  between  the 
two  decennial  years,  has  had  a  special  interest  from  a  pres- 
ent of  the  King  of  Bavaria,  who,  wishing  to  mark  his  sense 
of  the  extraordinary  devotion  of  this  little  spot  in  his  do- 
minions, has  made  it  a  present  of  a  gigantic  cross,  or  rather 
three  crosses,  to  form  a  M  Calvary,"  which  is  to  be  erected  on 
a  hill  overlooking  the  town.  In  honor  of  this  royal  gift,  it 
was  decided  to  have  this  year  a  special  representation,  not 
of  the  full  Passion  Play,  but  of  a  series  of  Tableaux  and 
Acts,  representing  what  is  called  the  School  of  the 
Cross — that  is,  such  scenes  from  the  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ments as  converge  upon  that  emblem  of  Christ's  death  and 
of  man's  salvation.  This  is  not  in  any  strict  sense  a  Play, 
though  intended  to  represent  the  greatest  of  all  tragedies,  but 
a  series  of  Tableaux  Vivants,  in  some  cases  (only  in  those 
from  the  Old  Testament)  the  statuesque  representation  being 
aided  by  words  from  the  Bible  in  the  mouths  of  the  actors 
in  the  scene.  The  announcement  of  this  new  sacred  drama 
(if  such  it  must  be  called)  reached  us  in  Vienna,  and  drew 
us  to  this  mountain  village  ;  and  in  selecting  such  subjects  as 
seem  most  likely  to  interest  my  readers,  I  pass  by  two  of  the 
most  attractive  places  in  Southern  Germany — Salzburg  which 
is  said  to  be  "  the  most  beautiful  spot  in  Europe,"  where  we 


THE    PASSION    TLAY   AND    SCHOOL    OF    THE    CROSS.         181 

spent  three  days ;  and  Munich,  with  its  Art  Galleries,  where 
we  spent  four — to  describe  this  veiy  uuique  exhibition,  so 
unlike  anything  to  be  seen  in  any  other  part  of  the  world. 

We  left  Munich  by  rail,  and,  after  an  hour's  ride,  varied 
our  journey  by  a  sail  across  a  lake,  and  then  took  to  a  dili- 
gence, to  convey  us  into  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  Among 
our  companions  were  several  Catholic  priests,  who  were 
making  a  pilgrimage  to  Ober-Ammergau  as  a  sacred  place. 
The  sun  had  set  before  we  reached  our  destination.  As  we 
approached  the  hamlet,  we  found  wreaths  and  banners  hung 
on  poles  along  the  road — the  signs  of  the  fete  on  the  mor- 
row. As  the  resources  of  the  little  place  were  very  limited, 
the  visitors,  as  they  arrived,  had  to  be  quartered  among  the 
people  of  the  village.  We  had  taken  tickets  at  Munich 
which  secured  us  at  least  a  roof  over  our  heads,  and  were 
assigned  to  the  house  of  one  of  the  better  class  of  peasants, 
where  the  good  man  and  good  wife  received  us  very  kindly, 
and  gave  us  such  accommodations  as  their  small  quarters 
allowed,  showing  us  to  our  rooms  up  a  little  stair  which  was 
like  a  ladder,  and  shutting  us  in  by  a  trap-door.  It  gave  us 
a  strange  feeling  of  distance  and  loneliness,  to  find  ourselves 
sleeping  in  such  a  "  loft,"  under  the  roof  of  a  peasant  among 
the  mountains  of  Bavaria. 

The  morning  broke  fair  and  bright,  and  soon  the  whole 
village  was  astir.  Peasants  dressed  in  their  gayest  clothes 
came  flocking  in  from  all  the  countryside.  At  nine  o'clock 
three  cannon  shots  announced  the  commencement  of  the  fete. 
The  place  of  the  performance  was  on  rising  ground,  a  little 
otrt  of  the  village,  where  a  large  barn-like  structure  had 
been  recently  erected,  which  might  hold  a  thousand  people. 
Formerly  when  the  Passion  Play  was  performed,  it  was 
given  in  the  open  air,  no  building  being  sufficient  to  contain 
the  crowds  which  thronged  to  the  unaccustomed  spectacle. 
This  rude  structure  is  arranged  like  a  theatre,  with  a  stage 
for  the  actors,  and  the    rest  of  the  house  divided  off  into 


182        THE    PA.SSIOS    PLAY   AND    SCHOOL   OF    THE    CROSS. 

seats,  the  best  of  which  are  generally  occupied  by  strangers, 
while  the  peasant  population  crowd  the  galleries.  We  had 
front  seats,  which  were  only  separated  from  the  stage  by  the 
orchestra,  which  deserves  a  word  of  praise,  since  the  music 
was  both  composed  and  performed  wholly  by  such  musical 
talent  as  the  little  village  itself  could  provide. 

At  length  the  music  ceased,  and  the  choir,  which  was  com- 
posed of  thirteen  persons  in  two  divisions,  entered  from  op- 
posite sides  of  the  stage,  and  li  formed  in  line  "  in  front  of 
the  curtain.  The  choir  takes  a  leading  part  in  this  extraor- 
dinary performance — the  same,  indeed,  that  the  chorus  does 
in  the  old  Greek  tragedy,  preceding  each  act  or  tableau  with 
a  recitation  or  a  hymn,  designed  as  a  prelude  to  introduce 
what  is  to  follow,  and  then  at  the  close  of  the  act  concluding 
with  what  preachers  would  call  an  "improvement  "  or  "  ap- 
plication." In  this  opening  chant  the  chorus  introduced  the 
mighty  story  of  man's  redemption,  as  Milton  began  his  Para- 
dise Lost,  by  speaking 

Of  man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit 
Of  that  forbidden  tree,  whose  mortal  taste 
Brought  death  into  the  world,  and  all  our  woe. 

It  was  a  sort  of  recitative  or  plaintive  melody,  fit  keynote 
of  the  sad  scenes  that  were  to  follow.  The  voices  ceased, 
and  the  curtain  rose. 

The  first  Biblical  characters  who  appeared  on  the  stage 
were  Cain  and  Abel,  who  were  dressed  in  skins  after  the 
primitive  fashior.  of  our  race.  Abel,  who  was  of  light  com- 
plexion and  hair,  was  clad  in  the  whitest  and  softest  sheep's 
wool ;  while  Cain,  who  was  dark-featured,  and  of  a  sinister 
and  angry  countenance,  was  covered  with  a  flaming  leopard's 
skin,  as  best  betokened  the  ferocity  of  his  character.  In  the 
background  rose  the  incense  of  Abel's  offering.  Cain  was 
disturbed  and  angry  ;  he  spoke  to  his  brother  in  a  harsh 
voice.     Abel  replied  in  the  gentlest  accents,  trying  to  soften 


THE    PASSION   PLAY   AND    SCHOOL   OF    THE    CROSS.         183 

bis  brother's  heart  and  turn  away  his  wrath.  Father  Adam, 
too,  appears  on  the  scene,  using  his  parental  authority  to 
reconcile  his  children  ;  and  Eve  comes  in,  and  lays  her  light 
hand  on  the  arm  of  her  infuriated  son,  and  tries  to  soothe 
him  to  a  gentler  mood.  Even  the  Angel  of  the  Lord  steps 
forth  from  among  the  trees  of  the  Garden,  to  warn  the  guilty 
man  of  the  evil  of  unbridled  rage,  and  to  urge  him  to  timely 
repentance,  that  his  offering  may  be  accepted.  These  united 
persuasions  for  the  moment  seem  to  be  successful,  and  there 
is  un  apparent  reconciliation  between  the  'brothers  ;  Cain  falls 
on  Abel's  neck,  and  embraces  him.  Yet  even  while  using 
the  language  of  affection,  he  has  a  club  in  his  hand,  which 
he  holds  behind  him.  But  the  fatal  deed  is  not  done  upon 
the  stage;  for  throughout  the  play  there  is  an  effort  to  keep 
out  of  sight  any  repulsive  act.  So  they  retire  from  the  scene. 
But  presently  nature  itself  announces  that  some  deed  of 
violence  and  blood  is  being  done ;  the  lightnings  flash  and 
thunders  roll ;  and  Adam  reappears,  bearing  Abel  in  his  aged 
arms,  and  our  first  parents  together  indulge  in  loud  lamenta- 
tions over  the  body  of  their  murdered  son. 

This  story  of  Cain  and  Abel  occupied  several  short  acts, 
in  which  the  curtain  rose  and  fell  several  times,  and  at  the 
end  of  each  the  chorus  came  upon  the  stage  to  give  the  moral 
of  the  scene. 

In  the  dialogues  the  speakers  follow  closely  the  Old  Testa- 
ment. If  occasional  sentences  are  thrown  in  to  give  a  little 
more  fulness  of  detail,  at  least  there  is  no  departure  from  the 
general  outline  of  the  sacred  narrative.  It  is  the  story  of 
the  first  crime,  the  first  shedding  of  human  blood,  told  in  a 
dramatic  form,  by  the  personages  themselves  appearing  on 
the  stage. 

These  scenes  from  the  Old  Testament  were  mingled  with 
scenes  from  the  New,  the  aim  being  to  use  one  to  illustrate 
the  other — the  antitype  following  the  type  in  close  succession. 
Thus  the  pendant  of  the  former  scenes  (to  adopt  a  word  much 


184        THE    PASSION   PLAY   AND    SCHOOL    OF    THE    CROSS. 

used  by  artists  when  one  picture  is  hung  011  a  wall  over 
against  another)  was  now  given  in  the  corresponding  crime 
which  darkens  the  pages  of  the  New  Testament  history — the 
betrayal  of  Christ.  But  there  was  this  difference  between 
the  scenes  from  the  Old  Testament  and  those  from  the  New : 
in  the  latter  there  was  no  dialogue  whatever ',  and  no  action,  as 
if  it  was  all  too  sacred  for  words — nothing  but  the  tableau, 
the  figures  standing  in  one  attitude,  fixed  and  motionless. 
First  there  was  the  scene  of  Christ  driving  the  money-chang- 
ers from  the  temple.  Here  a  large  number  of  figures — I 
should  think  twenty  or  thirty — appeared  upon  the  stage,  and 
held  their  places  with  unchanging  look.  Not  one  moved; 
they  scarcely  breathed  ;  but  all  stood  fixed  as  marble.  All 
the  historic  characters  were  present — the  priests  in  their 
robes  (the  costumes  evidently  having  been  studied  with  great 
care),  and  the  Pharisees  glaring  with  rage  upon  our  Lord,  as 
with  holy  indignation  He  spurns  the  profane  intruders  from 
the  sacred  precincts. 

Then  there  is  the  scene  of  Judas  betraying  Christ.  We 
see  him  leading  the  way  to  the  sjjot  where  our  Saviour  kneels 
in  prayer;  the  crowd  follow  with  lanterns;  there  are  the 
Roman  soldiers,  and  in  the  background  are  the  priests,  the 
instigators  of  this  greatest  of  crimes. 

In  another  scene  Judas  appears  again  overwhelmed  with 
remorse,  casting  down  his  ill-gotten  money  before  the  priests, 
who  look  on  scornfully,  as  if  bidding  him  keep  the  price  of 
blood,  and  take  its  terrible  consequences. 

As  might  be  supposed,  the  part  of  Judas  is  one  not  to  be 
particularly  desired,  and  we  cannot  look  at  a  countenance 
showing  a  mixture  of  hatred  and  greed,  without  a  strong 
repugnance.  There  was  a  story  that  the  man  who  acted 
Judas  in  the  Passion  Play  in  1870  had  been  killed  in  the 
French  war,  but  this  we  find  to  be  an  error.  It  was  a  very 
natural  invention  of  some  one  who  thought  that  a  man 
capable  of  such  a  crime  ought  to   be  killed.     But  the  old 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AND  SCHOOL  OF  THE  CROSS.    185 

Judas  is  still  living,  and,  off  from  the  stag?,  is  said  to  be  one 
of  the  most  worthy  men  of  the  village. 

Having  thus  had  set  before  us  the  most  striking  illustra- 
tions of  human  guilt,  in  the  first  crime  that  ever  stained  the 
earth  with  blood,  and  in  the  greatest  of  all  crimes,  which 
caused  the  death  of  Christ,  we  have  next  presented  the 
method  of  man's  redemption.  The  chorus  again  enters  upon 
the  stage,  and  recites  the  story  of  the  fall,  how  man  sinned, 
and  was  to  be  recovered  by  the  sacrifice  of  one  who  was  to  be 
an  atonement  for  a  ruined  world.  Again  the  curtain  rises, 
and  we  have  before  us  the  high  priest  Melchisedec,  in  whose 
smoking  altar  we  see  illustrated  the  idea  of  sacrifice. 

The  same  idea  takes  a  more  terrible  form  in  the  sacrifice 
of  Isaac.  We  see  the  struggles  of  his  father  Abraham,  who 
is  bowed  with  sorrow,  and  the  heart-broken  looks  of  Sarah, 
his  wife.  The  latter  part,  as  it  happened,  was  taken  by  a 
person  of  a  very  sweet  face,  the  effect  of  which  was  height- 
ened by  being  overcast  with  sadness,  and  also  by  the  Oriental 
costume,  which,  covering  a  part  of  the  face,  left  the  dark  eyes 
which  peered  out  from  under  the  long  eyelashes,  to  be  turned 
on  the  beholders.  Everything  in  the  appearance  of  Abra- 
ham, his  bending  form  and  ilowing  beard,  answered  to  the 
idea  of  the  venerable  patriarch.  The  couleur  locale  was  pre- 
served even  in  the  attendants,  who  looked  as  if  they  were 
Arabian  servants  who  had  just  dismounted  from  camels  at  the 
door  of  the  tent.  Isaac  appears,  an  innocent  and  confiding 
boy,  with  no  presumption  of  the  dark  and  terrible  fate  that  is 
impending  over  him.  And  when  the  gentle  Sarah  appears, 
tenderly  solicitous  for  the  safety  of  her  child,  the  coldest 
spectator  could  hardly  be  unmoved  by  a  scene  pictured  with 
such  touching  fidelity.  It  is  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that,' 
as  this  fearful  tragedy  approaches  its  consummation,  we  hear 
the  voice  of  the  angel,  and  behold  that  the  Lord  has  him- 
self provided  a  sacrifice. 

But  all  these  scenes  of  darkness  and  sorrow,  of  guilt  and 


186        THE    PASSION    PLAY   AND    SCHOOL    OF    THE    CROSS. 

sacrifice,  are  now  to  find  their  culmination  and  their  explana- 
tion in  the  death  of  our  Lord,  to  which  all  ancient  types  con- 
verge, and  on  which  all  ancient  symbols  cast  their  faint  and 
flickering,  but  not  uncertain,  light.  As  the  scenes  approach 
this  grand  climax,  they  grow  in  pathos  and  solemnity.  Each 
is  more  tender  and  more  effective  than  the  last. 

One  of  the  most  touching,  as  might  be  supposed,  is  that  of 
the  Last  Supper,  in  which  we  recognize  every  one  of  the  dis- 
ciples, so  closely  has  the  grouping  been  studied  from  the 
painting  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  and  other  old  masters  with 
whom  this  was  a  favorite  subject.  There  are  Peter  and  John 
and  the  rest,  all  turning  with  an  eager,  anxious  look  towards 
their  Master,  and  all  with  an  indescribable  sadness  on  their 
faces.  Again  the  scene  changes,  and  we  see  our  Lord  in  the 
Garden  of  Gethsemane.  There  are  the  three  disciples  slumber- 
ing, overcome  with  weariness  and  sorrow  ;  and  there  on  the 
sacred  mount  at  midnight 

11  The  suffering  Saviour  prays  alone." 

Again  the  curtain  falls,  and  the  chorus,  in  tones  still  more 
plaintive  and  mournful,  announce  that  the  end  is  near.  The 
curtain  rises,  and  we  behold  the  Crucifixion.  Here  there 
are  thirty  or  forty  persons  introduced.  In  the  foreground 
are  three  or  four  figures  "  casting  lots,"  careless  of  the  awful 
scene  that  is  going  on  above  them.  The  Roman  soldier  is 
looking  upward  with  his  spear.  The  three  Marys  are  at  the 
feet  of  their  Lord ;  3fary  Magdalen  nearest  of  all,  with  her 
arms  clasped  around  the  cross /  Mary,  the  mother  of  Christ, 
looking  up  with  weeping  eyes ;  and  a  little  farther  Mary,  the 
wife  of  Cleophas.  The  two  thieves  are  hanging,  with  their 
arms  thrown  over  the  cross-tree,  as  they  are  represented  in 
many  of  the  paintings  of  the  Crucifixion.  But  we  scarcely 
notice  them,  as  all  eyes  are  fixed  on  the  Central  Figure.  The 
man  who  takes  the  part  of  the  Christus  in  this  Divine  Tra- 
gedy, has  made  a  study  of  it  for  years,  and  must  have  trained 


THE    PASSION    PLAY   AND    SCHOOL    OF    THE    CROSS.         187 

himself  to  great  physical  endurance  for  a  scene  which  must 
tax  his  strength  to  the  utmost.  His  arms  are  extended,  his 
hands  and  feet  seem  to  be  pierced  with  the  nails,  and  flowing 
with  blood.  Even  without  actual  wounds  the  attitude  itself 
must  be  extremely  painful.  How  he  could  support  the 
weight  of  his  body  in  such  a  posture  was  a  wonder  to  all.  It 
was  said  that  he  rested  one  foot  on  something  projecting  from 
the  cross,  but  even  then  it  seemed  incredible  that  he  could 
sustain  such  a  position  for  more  than  a  single  instant.  Yet 
in  the  performance  of  the  Passion  Play  it  is  said  that  he 
remains  thus  suspended  twenty  minutes,  and  is  then  taken 
down,  almost  in  a  fainting  condition. 

Some  may  ask,  How  did  the  sight  affect  me  ?  Twenty-four 
hours  before  I  could  not  have  believed  that  I  could  look 
upon  it  without  a  feeling  of  horror,  but  so  skilfully  had  the 
points  of  the  sacred  drama  been  rendered  thus  far,  that  my 
feelings  had  been  wound  up  to  the  highest  pitch,  and  when 
the  curtain  rose  on  that  last  tremendous  scene,  I  was  quite 
overcome,  the  tears  burst  from  my  eyes,  I  felt  as  never 
before,  under  any  sermon  that  I  ever  heard  preached,  how 
solemn  and  how  awful  was  the  tragedy  of  the  death  of  the  Son 
of  God.  So  excited  were  we,  and  to  appearance  all  in  the 
building,  that  it  was  a  relief  when  the  curtain  fell. 

As  if  to  give  a  further  relief  to  the  over-wrought  feelings 
of  the  audience,  occasioned  by  this  mournful  sight,  the  next 
scene  was  of  a  different  character.  It  was  not  the  Resurrec- 
tion, though  it  might  have  been  intended  to  symbolize  it,  as 
in  it  the  actor  appears  as  if  he  had  been  brought  back  from 
the  dead.  It  is  the  story  of  Joseph,  which  is  introduced  to 
illustrate  the  method  of  Divine  Providence,  by  which  is 
brought  "  Light  out  of  Darkness."  We  see  the  aged  form 
of  Jacob,  bowed  with  grief  at  the  loss  of  his  son.  Then 
comes  the  marvellous  succession  of  events  by  which  the 
darkness  is  turned  to  light.  Bewildered  at  the  news  of  his 
son  being  in  Egypt,  at  first  he  cannot  believe  the  good  tid- 


188         THE    PASSION    PLAY   AND    SCHOOL    OF    THE    CKOSS. 

ings,  till  at  length  convinced,  he  rises  up  saying  "  Joseph, 
my  son,  is  yet  alive;  I  will  go  and  see  him  before  I  die." 
Then  follows  the  return  to  Egypt,  and  the  meeting  with  him 
who  was  dead  and  is  alive  again,  when  the  old  man  falls  upon 
his  neck,  and  Joseph's  children  (two  curly-headed  little  fel- 
lows whom  we  had  the  privilege  of  kissing  before  the  day- 
was  over)  were  brought  to  his  knees  to  receive  his  blessing. 
This  was  a  domestic  rather  than  a  tragic  scene,  and  sucli  is 
the  natural  pathos  of  the  story,  that  it  touched  every  heart. 

The  last  scene  of  all  was  the  Ascension,  which  was  less 
impressive  than  some  that  had  gone  before,  as  it  could  of 
course  only  be  imperfectly  represented.  The  Saviour  appears 
standing  on  the  mount,  with  outstretched  hands,  in  the  midst 
of  his  disciples,  but  there  the  scene  ends,  as  it  could  go  no 
further ;  there  could  be  no  descending  cloud  to  receive  him 
out  of  their  sight. 

With  this  last  act  the  curtain  fell.  The  whole  representa- 
tion had  occupied  three  hours. 

Now  as  to  the  general  impression  of  this  extraordinary 
scene:  As  a  piece  of  acting  it  was  simply  wonderful.  The 
parts  were  filled  admirably.  The  characters  were  perfectly 
kept.  Even  the  costumes  were  as  faithfully  reproduced  as  in 
any  of  those  historical  dramas  which  are  now  and  then  put 
upon  the  stage,  such  as  tragedies  founded  on  events  in  ancient 
Greek  or  Roman  history,  where  the  greatest  pains  are  taken  to 
render  every  detail  with  scrupulous  fidelity.  This  is  very  ex- 
traordinary, especially  when  it  is  considered  that  this  is  all 
done  by  a  company  of  Bavarian  peasants,  such  as  might  be 
found  in  any  Alpine  village.  The  explanation  is,  that  this 
representation  is  the  great  work  of  their  lives.  They  have 
their  trades,  like  other  poor  people,  and  work  hard  for  a  living. 
But  their  great  interest,  that  which  gives  a  touch  of  poetry  to 
their  humble  existence,  and  raises  them  above  the  level  of 
other  peasants,  is  the  representation  of  this  Passion  Play. 
This  has  come  down  to  them  from  their  fathers.    It  has  been 


THE    PASSION    PLAY    AXD    SCHOOL    OF    THE    CROSS.         180 

acted  among  them  for  two  hundred  years.  There  are  tradi- 
tions handed  down  from  one  generation  to  another  of  the 
way  in  which  this  or  that  part  should  be  performed.  In  the 
long  intervals  of  ten  years  between  one  representation  and 
another,  they  practice  constantly  upon  their  several  parts,  so 
that  at  the  last  they  attain  a  wonderful  degree  of  perfection. 

As  to  the  propriety  of  the  thing:  To  our  cold  Protestant 
ideas  it  seems  simply  monstrous,  a  horrid  travesty  of  the 
most  sacred  scenes  in  the  Word  of  God.  So  I  confess  it 
would  appear  to  me  if  done  by  others.  Anywhere  else  what 
I  have  witnessed  would  appear  to  me  almost  like  blasphemy  j 
it  would  be  merely  acting,  and  that  of  the  worst  kind,  in 
which  men  assume  the  most  sacred  characters,  even  that  of 
our  blessed  Lord  himself. 

But  this  impression  is  very  much  changed  when  we  consider 
that  here  all  this  is  done  in  a  spirit  of  devotion.  These 
Bavarian  peasants  are  a  very  religious  people  (some  would 
prefer  to  call  it  superstition),  but  whatever  it  be,  it  is  uni- 
versal. Pictures  of  saints  and  angels,  or  of  Christ  and  the 
Virgin  Mary,  are  seen  in  every  house ;  crosses  and  images, 
and  shrines  are  all  along  the  roads.  Call  it  superstition  if 
you  will,  but  at  least  the  feeling  of  religion,  the  feeling  of 
a  Divine  Power,  is  present  in  every  heart ;  they  refer  every- 
thing to  supernatural  agencies  ;  they  hear  the  voice  of  God  in 
the  thunder  that  smites  the  crest  of  the  hills,  or  the  storm 
that  sweeps  through  their  valleys. 

And  so  when  they  come  to  the  performance  of  this  Passion 
Play,  it  is  not  as  unbelievers,  whose  offering  would  be  an 
offence,  "  not  being  mixed  with  faith  in  them  that  did  it." 
They  believe,  and  therefore  they  speak,  and  therefore  they 
act.  And  so  they  go  through  their  parts  in  the  most  devout 
spirit.  Whenever  the  Passion  Play  is  to  be  performed,  all 
who  are  to  take  part  in  it  first  go  to  the  communion  *  and 
thus  with  hearts  penitent  and  subdued,  they  come  to  assume 
these  sacred  characters,  and  speak  these  holy  words. 


190        THE    PASSION   PLAY   AND    SCHOOL   OP   THE    CROSS. 

And  so,  while  the  attempt  to  transport  the  Passion  Play 
anywhere  else  would  be  very  repulsive,  it  may  be  left  where 
it  is,  in  this  lonely  valley  of  the  Bavarian  mountains,  an 
unique  and  extraordinary  relic  of  the  religious  customs  of  the 
Middle  Ages. 

But  while  one  such  representation  is  quite  enough,  and  we 
are  well  content  that  it  should  stand  alone,  and  there  should 
be  not  another,  yet  he  must  be  a  dull  observer  who  does  not 
derive  from  it  some  useful  hints  both  as  to  the  power  of  the 
simplest  religious  truth,  and  the  way  of  presenting  it. 

Preachers  are  not  actors,  and  when  some  sensational 
preachers  try  to  introduce  into  the  pulpit  the  arts  which  they 
have  learned  from  the  stage,  they  commonly  make  lamentable 
failures.  To  say  that  a  preacher  is  theatrical,  is  to  stamp 
him  as  a  kind  of  clerical  mountebank.  And  yet  there  is  a 
use  of  the  dramatic  element  which  is  not  forced  nor  artificial, 
which  on  the  contrary  is  the  most  simple  and  natural  way  of 
speaking.  The  dramatic  element  is  in  human  nature. 
Children  use  gestures  in  talking,  and  vary  their  tones  of 
voice.  They  never  stand  stiff  as  a  post,  as  some  preachers 
do.  The  most  popular  speakers  are  dramatic  in  their  style. 
Gough,  the  temperance  lecturer,  who  has  probably  addressed 
more  and  larger  audiences  in  America  and  Great  Britain 
than  any  other  man  living,  is  a  consummate  actor.  His  art 
of  mimicry,  his  power  of  imitating  the  expression  of  counte- 
nance and  tones  of  voice,  is  wonderful.  And  our  eloquent 
friend  Talmage,  in  Brooklyn,  owes  much  of  his  power  to  the 
freedom  with  which  he  walks  up  and  down  his  platform, 
which  is  a  kind  of  stage,  and  throws  in  incidents  to  illustrate 
his  theme,  often  acting,  as  well  as  relating  them,  with  great 
effect. 

But  not  only  is  the  dramatic  element  in  human  nature,  it 
is  in  the  Bible,  which  runs  over  with  it.  The  Bible  is  not 
merely  a  volume  of  ethics.  It  is  full  of  narrative,  of  his 
tory  and  biography,  and  of  dialogue.     Many  of  the  teach- 


THE   PASSION   PLAY  AND    SCHOOL   OP   THE    CROSS.         191 

ings  of  our  Saviour  are  in  the  form  of  conversations,  of 
which  it  is  quite  impossible  to  give  the  full  meaning  and 
spirit,  without  changes  of  manner  and  inflections  of  voice. 
Take  such  an  exquisite  portion  of  the  Old  Testament  as  the 
story  of  Ruth,  or  that  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren.  What 
an  outrage  upon  the  sacred  word  to  read  such  sweet  and  ten- 
der passages  in  a  dull  and  monotonous  voice,  as  if  one  had 
not  a  particle  of  feeling  of  their  beauty.  One  might  ask 
such  a  reader  (C  Understandest  thou  what  thou  readest  ?  " 
and  if  he  is  too  dull  to  learn  otherwise,  these  simple  Ba- 
varian peasants  might  teach  him  to  throw  into  his  reading 
from  the  pulpit  a  little  of  the  pathos  and  tenderness 
which  they  give  to  the  conversations  of  Joseph  with  his 
father  Jacob. 

Of  course,  in  introducing  the  dramatic  element  into  the 
pulpit,  it  is  to  be  done  with  a  close  self-restraint,  and  with 
the  utmost  delicacy  and  tenderness.  But  so  used,  it  may 
subserve  the  highest  ends  of  preaching.  Of  this  a  very  illus- 
trious example  is  furnished  in  the  annals  of  the  American 
pulpit,  in  the  Blind  Preacher  of  Virginia,  the  impression  of 
whose  eloquence  is  preserved  by  the  pen  of  William  Wirt. 
When  that  venerable  old  man,  lifting  his  sightless  eyeballs  to 
heaven,  described  the  last  sufferings  of  our  Lord,  it  was 
with  a  manner  adapted  to  the  recital,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
spectator  of  the  mournful  scene,  and  with  such  pathos  in  his 
tones  as  melted  the  whole  assembly  into  tears,  and  the  excite- 
ment seemed  almost  beyond  control ;  and  the  stranger  held 
his  breath  in  fear  and  wonder  how  they  were  ever  to  be  let 
down  fiom  that  exaltation  of  feeling.  But  the  blind  man 
held  them  as  a  master.  He  paused  and  lifted  his  hands  to 
heaven,  and  after  a  moment  of  silence,  repeated  only  the 
memorable  exclamation  of  Rousseau :  "  Socrates  died  like  a 
philosopher,  but  Jesus  Christ  like  a  God  !  "  In  this  marvel- 
lous eloquence  the  preacher  used  the  dramatic  element  as 
trul)  as  any  actor  in  the  Passion  Play,  the  object  ki  both 


192        THE    PASSION    PLAY   AND    SCHOOL    OF   THE    CROSS. 

cases  being  the  same,  to  bring  most  vividly  before  the  mind 
the  life  and  death  of  the  Son  of  God. 

And  is  not  that  the  great  object,  and  the  great  subject,  of 
all  our  preaching  ?  The  chief  lesson  which  I  have  learned 
to-day,  concerns  not  the  manner,  but  the  substance,  of  what 
we  preach.  This  Passion  Play  teaches  most  impressively, 
that  the  one  thing  which  most  interests  all,  high  and  low7 
rich  and  poor,  is  the  simple  story  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  that 
the  power  of  the  pulpit  depends  on  the  vividness  with  which 
Christ  and  His  Cross  are  brought,  if  not  before  the  eyes,  at 
least  before  the  minds  and  hearts  of  men.  It  is  not  eloquent 
essays  on  the  'beauty  of  virtue,  or  learned  discussions  on  the 
relations  of  Science  and  Religion,  that  will  ever  touch  the 
heart  of  the  world,  but  the  old,  old  story  of  that  Divine  life, 
told  with  the  utmost  simplicity  and  tenderness.  I  think  it 
lawful  to  use  any  object  which  can  bring  me  nearer  to  Him. 
That  which  has  been  conceived  in  superstition  may  minister 
to  a  devout  spirit.  And  so  I  never  see  one  of  these  crosses 
by  the  roadside  without  its  turning  my  thoughts  to  Him  who 
was  lifted  up  upon  it,  and  in  my  secret  heart  I  whisper, 
"  O  Christ,  Redeemer  of  the  world,  be  near  me  now  !  " 

Some,  I  know,  will  think  this  a  weak  sentimentalism,  or 
even  a  sinful  tolerance  of  superstition.  But  with  all  proper 
respect  for  their  prejudices,  I  must  hail  my  Saviour  where- 
ever  I  can  find  Him,  whether  in  the  city  or  the  forest,  or  on 
the  mountain.  What  a  consolation  there  is  in  carrying  that 
blessed  image  with  us,  wherever  we  go  !  How  it  stills  our 
beating  hearts,  and  dries  our  tears,  to  think  of  Him  who  has 
borne  our  griefs  and  carried  our  sorrows !  Often  do  I 
repeat  to  myself  those  sweet  lines  of  George  Herbert : 

Christ  leads  us  through  no  darker  rooms 

Than  He  went  through  before  ; 
Whoso  into  God's  kingdom  comes 

Must  enter  by  this  door. 

I  do  ^not  like  to  speak  of  my  own  feelings;  for  they  are 


THE    PASSION    PLAY    AND    SCHOOL    OF    THE    CROSS.         193 

too  private  and  sacred,  and  I  shrink  from  any  expression  of 
them.  But  all  this  summer,  while  wandering  in  so  many 
beautiful  scenes,  among  lakes  and  mountains,  I  have  felt  the 
strongest  religious  craving.  I  have  been  looking  for  some- 
thing which  I  did  not  find  either  in  the  populous  city,  or  in 
the  solitary  place  where  no  man  was.  Something  had  van- 
ished from  the  earth,  the  absence  of  which  could  only  be 
supplied  by  an  invisible  presence  and  spiritual  grace.  Amid 
great  scenes  of  nature  one  is  very  lonely ;  and  especially  if 
there  be  a  hidden  weight  that  hangs  heavy  on  the  heart,  he 
feels  the  need  of  a  Presence  of  which  "  The  deep  saith,  It 
is  not  in  me,"  and  Nature  saith,  "  It  is  not  in  me."  What  is 
this  but  the  human  soul  groping  after  God,  if  haply  it  may 
find  him  ?  The  psalmist  has  expressed  it  in  one  word,  when 
he  says,  "  My  heart  and  my  flesh  crieth  out  for  the  living 
God."  How  often  has  that  cry  been  wrung  from  my  heart 
in  lonely  and  desolate  hours,  when  standing  on  the  deck  of  a 
ship,  or  on  the  peak  of  a  mountain  !  And  wherever  I  see 
any  sign  of  religion,  I  am  comforted  ;  and  so  as  I  look 
around,  and  see  upon  all  these  hills  the  sign  of  the  cross,  I 
think  of  Him  who  died  for  me,  and  the  cry  which  has  so  often 
been  lifted  up  in  distant  lands,  goes  up  here  from  the  heart 
of  the  Bavarian  A  lps :  "  O  Lamb  of  God,  that  takest  away 
the  sin  of  the  world,  grant  me  Thy  peace  1 " 
9 


194  THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO. 


Cadenabbia,  Lake  Como,  August  30th. 

The  "Rev.  Dr.  Bellows  of  New  York  is  to  blame — or  "  to 
praise  " — for  our  last  week' s  wanderings  ;  for  he  it  was  who 
advised  me  by  no  means  to  leave  out  the  Tyrol  in  our  Euro- 
pean tour — and  if  he  could  have  seen  all  the  delight  of  these 
few  days,  I  think  he  would  willingly  take  the  responsibility. 
The  Tyrol  is  less  visited  than  Switzerland  ;  it  is  not  so  over- 
run with  tourists  (and  this  is  a  recommendation) ;  but  it  is 
hardly  less  worthy  of  a  visit.  To  be  sure,  the  mountains  are 
not  quite  so  high  as  Mont  Blanc  and  the  Matterhorn  (there 
are  not  so  many  snow-clad  peaks  and  glaciers),  but  they  are 
high  enougn  ;  there  are  many  that  pierce  the  clouds,  and  the 
roads  wind  amid  perpetual  wildness,  yet  not  without  beauty 
also,  for  at  the  foot  of  these  savage  mountains  lie  the  loveliest 
green  valleys,  which  are  inhabited  by  a  simple,  brave  people, 
who  have  often  defended  their  Alpine  passes  with  such  valor 
as  has  made  them  as  full  of  historical  interest  as  they  are  of 
natural  grandeur. 

Innsbruck  is  the  capital  of  the  Tyrol,  and  the  usual  starting 
point  for  a  tour — but  as  at  Ober-Ammergau  we  were  to  the 
west,  we  found  a  nearer  point  of  departure  at  Partenkirchen, 
a  small  town  lying  in  the  lap  of  the  mountains,  'from  which  a 
journey  through  Lermos,  Nassereit,  Imsfc,  Landeck  and  Mais, 
leads  one  through  the  heart  of  the  Tyrol,  ending  with  the 
Stelvio  Pass,  the  highest  over  the  Alps.  It  is  a  long  day's 
ride  to  Landeck,  but  we  ordered  a  carriage  with  a  pair  of 


THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO.  195 

stout  horses,  and  went  to  our  rest  full  of  expectation  of  what 
we  should  see  on  the  morrow. 

But  the  night  was  not  promising  ;  the  rain  fell  in  torrents, 
and  the  morning  was  dark  and  lowering ;  but  "  he  that 
regardeth  the  clouds  shall  not  reap,"  so  with  faith  we  set  out, 
and  our  faith  was  rewarded,  for  soon  the  clouds  broke  away, 
and  though  they  lingered  in  scattered  masses,  sufficient  to 
shade  us  from  the  oppressive  heat  of  the  sun,  they  did  not 
obscure  the  sight  of  the  mountains  and  the  valleys.  The 
rains  had  laid  the  dust  and  cooled  the  air,  and  all  day  long 
we  were  floating  through  a  succession  of  the  most  varied 
scenes,  in  which  there  was  a  mingled  wildness  and  beauty 
that  would  have  delighted  our  landscape  artists. 

The  villages  are  less  picturesque  than  the  country.  They 
are  generally  built  very  compact,  apparently  as  a  security 
against  the  winter,  when  storms  rage  through  these  valleys, 
and  there  is  a  feeling  of  safety  in  being  thus  "  huddled " 
together.  The  houses  are  of  stone,  with  arched  passage-ways 
for  the  horses  to  be  driven  into  a  central  yard.  They  look 
very  solid,  but  they  are  not  tasteful.  There  are  not  good 
accommodations  for  travellers.  There  are  as  yet  none  of 
those  magnificent  hotels  which  the  flood  of  English  tourists 
has  caused  to  be  built  at  every  noted  point  in  Switzerland  ;  in 
the  Tyrol  one  has  to  depend  on  the  inns  of  the  countiy,  and 
these,  with  a  few  exceptions,  are  poor.  Looking  through  the 
one  long,  narrow  street  of  a  Tyrolean  village,  one  sees  little 
that  is  attractive,  but  much  to  the  contrary.  Great  heaps  of 
manure  lie  exposed  by  the  roadside,  and  often  not  only 
before  the  barns,  but  before  the  houses.  These  seem  to  be 
regarded  as  the  agricultural  riches  of  the  cultivators  of  tho 
soil,  and  are  displayed  with  as  much  pride  as  a  shepherd  would 
take  in  showing  his  flocks  and  herds.  These  features  of  a 
hamlet  in  the  Tyrol  a  traveller  regards  with  disgust,  and  we 
used  often  to  think  of  the  contrast  presented  to  one  of  our 
New  England  villages,  the  paradise  of  neatness  and  comfort. 


196  THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO. 

Such  things  seem  to  show  an  utter  absence  of  taste  ;  and 
yet  this  people  are  very  fond  of  flowers.  Almost  every 
house  has  a  little  patch  of  ground  for  their  cultivation,  and 
the  contrast  is  most  strange  between  the  filth  on  one  side  and 
the  beauty  and  bloom  on  the  other. 

Another  feature  which  strikes  one,  is  the  universal  rever- 
ence and  devotion.  The  Tyrolese,  like  the  peasants  of  Ba- 
varia, are  a  very  religious  people.  One  can  hardly  travel  a 
mile  without  coming  to  a  cross  or  a  shrine  by  the  wayside, 
with  an  image  of  Christ  and  the  Virgin.  Often  on  the 
highest  points  of  the  mountains,  where  only  the  shepherd 
builds  his  hut,  that  he  may  watch  his  flocks  in  the  summer 
as  they  feed  on  those  elevated  pastures,  may  be  seen  a  little 
chapel,  whose  white  spire,  gleaming  in  the  sunset,  seems  as 
strange  and  lonely  as  would  a  rude  chapel  built  by  a  com- 
pany of  miners  on  some  solitary  peak  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. 

These  summer  pastures  are  a  feature  of  the  Tyrol.  High 
up  on  the  sides  of  the  mountains  one  may  descry  here  and 
there,  amid  the  masses  of  rock,  or  the  pine  forest,  a  little 
oasis  of  green  (called  an  Alp),  where  a  few  rods  of  more  level 
ground  permit  of  cultivation.  It  would  seem  as  if  these 
heights  were  almost  inaccessible,  as  if  only  the  chamois  "could 
clamber  up  such  rocks,  or  find  a  footing  where  only  stunted 
pines  can  grow.  Yet  so  industrious  are  these  simple  Tyro- 
leans, and  so  hard-pressing  is  the  necessity  which  compels 
them  to  use  every  foot  of  the  soil,  that  they  follow  in  the 
path  of  the  chamois,  and  turn  even  the  tops  of  the  mountains 
into  greenness,  and  plant  their  little  patches  almost  on  the 
edge  of  the  snows.  Wherever  the  grass  can  grow,  the  cattle 
and  goats  find  sustenance  on  the  scanty  herbage.  To  these 
mountain  pastures  they  are  driven,  so  soon  as  the  snows 
have  melted  off  from  the  heights,  and  the  tender  grass  begins 
to  appear,  and  there  they  are  kept  till  the  return  of  cold  com- 
pels them  to  descend.     We  used  often  to  look  through  our 


THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO.  197 

spyglass  at  the  little  clusters  of  huts  on  the  very  tops  of  the 
mountains,  where  the  shepherds,  by  coming  together,  try  to 
lighten  a  little  the  loneliness  of  their  lot,  banished  for  the 
time  from  all  other  human  habitations.  But  what  a  solitary 
existence — the  only  sound  that  greets  their  ears  the  tinkling 
of  the  cow-bells,  or  the  winding  of  the  shepherd's  horn,  or 
the  chime  of  some  chapel  bell,  which,  perched  on  a  neighbor- 
ing height,  sends  its  sweet  tones  across  the  valley.  Amid 
such  scenes,  we  rode  through  a  dozen  villages,  past  hills 
crowned  with  old  castles,  and  often  looked  down  from  the 
mountain  sides  into  deep  hollows  glistening  with  lakes.  As 
we  came  into  the  valley  of  the  Inn,  we  remembered  that  this 
was  all  historic  ground.  The  bridges  over  which  we  passed 
have  often  been  the  scene  of  bloody  conflicts,  and  in  these 
narrow  gorges  the  Tyrolese  have  rolled  down  rocks  and  trees 
on  the  heads  of  their  invaders. 

We  slept  that  night  at  Landeck,  in  a  very  decent,  comfort- 
able inn,  kept  by  a  good  motherly  hostess.  The  next  morn- 
ing we  exchanged  our  private  carriage  for  the  stellwaggen,  a 
small  diligence  which  runs  to  Mais.  Our  journey  was  now 
made  still  more  pleasant  by  falling  in  with  a  party  of  three 
clergymen  of  the  Church  of  England — all  rectors  of  important 
churches  in  or  near  London,  who  had  been,  like  ourselves,  to 
Ober-Ammergau,  and  were  returning  through  the  Tyrol. 
They  had  been  also  to  the  Old  Catholic  Conference  at  Bonn, 
where  they  met  our  friend  Dr.  Schaff.  They  had  much  to 
say  of  the  addresses  of  Dr.  Dollinger,  and  of  the  Old  Catholic 
movement,  of  which  they  had  not  very  high  expectations, 
although  they  thought  its  influence,  as  far  as  it  went,  was 
good.  We  travelled  together  for  three  days.  I  found  them 
(as  I  have  always  found  clergymen  of  the  Church  of  England) 
men  of  culture  and  education,  as  well  as  gentlemen  in  their 
manners.  They  proved  most  agreeable  travelling  companions, 
and    their  pleasant    conversation,  as  we    rode  together,  or 


198  THE  TYKOL  AND  LAKE  COMO. 

walked  up  the  steep  ascents  of  the  mountains,  gave  an  addi 
tional  enjoyment  to  this  most  delightful  journey. 

This  second  day's  ride  led  us  over  the  Finstermiinz  Pass, 
in  which  all  the  features  of  Tyrolean  scenery  of  the  day  before 
were  repeated  with  increasing  grandeur.  For  many  miles 
the  line  of  the  Tyrol  is  close  to  that  of  Switzerland ;  across  a 
deep  gorge,  through  which  flows  a  rapid  river,  lies  the  Euga- 
dine,  which  of  late  years  has  been  a  favorite  resort  of  Swiss 
tourists,  and  where  our  friend  Prof.  Hitchcock  with  his 
family  has  been  spending  the  summer  at  St.  Moritz. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  day  we  descried  in  the  distance  a 
range  of  snowy  summits,  and  were  told  that  this  was  the 
chain  that  we  were  to  cross  on  the  morrow. 

But  all  the  experiences  of  those  two  days — in  which  we 
thought  our  superlatives  were  exhausted — were  surpassed  on 
the  third  as  we  crossed  the  Pass  of  the  Stelvio.  This  is  the 
highest  pass  in  Europe,  and  on  this  day  it  seemed  as  if  we 
were  scaling  heaven  itself.  Having  a  party  of  five,  we  pro- 
cured a  diligence  to  ourselves.  We  set  out  from  Mais  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  crossing  the  rushing,  foaming 
Adige,  began  the  ascent.  Soon  the  mountains  close  in  upon 
us,  the  Pass  grows  narrower  and  steeper ;  the  horses  have  to 
pull  harder ;  we  get  out  and  walk,  partly  to  relieve  the  hard- 
breathing  animals,  but  more  to  see  at  every  turn  the  savage 
wildness  of  the  scenery.  How  the  road  turns  and  twists  in 
every  way  to  get  a  foothold,  doubling  on  itself  a  hundred 
times  in  its  ascent  of  a  few  miles.  And  look,  how  the  gran- 
deur grows  as  we  mount  into  this  higher  air  !  The  snow-peaks 
are  all  around  us,  and  the  snow  melting  in  the  fiery  sun,  feeds 
many  streams  which  pour  down  the  rocky  sides  of  the  moun- 
tains to  unite  in  the  valley  below,  and  which  filled  the  soli- 
tudes with  a  perpetual  roar. 

After  such  steady  climbing  for  seven  hours,  at  one  o'clock 
we  reached  a  resting  place  for  dinner  (where  we  halted  an 
hour),  a  shelf  between  the  mountains,  from  which,  as  we  were 


THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO.  199 

now  above  the  line  of  trees,  and  no  forests  intercepted  the 
view,  we  could  see  our  way  to  the  very  summit.  The  road 
winds  in  a  succession  of  zigzags  up  the  side  of  the  mountain. 
The  distance  in  an  air  line  is  not  perhaps  more  than  two 
miles,  though  it  is  six  and  a  half  by  the  road,  and  it  took  us 
just  two  hours  to  reach  the  top.  At  length  at  four  o'clock 
we  reached  the  point,  over  nine  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea,  where  a  stone  monument  marks  at  once  the 
summit  of  the  Pass  and  the  dividing  line  between  the  Tyrol 
and  Lombardy.  All  leaped  from  the  carriage  in  delight,  to 
look  around  on  the  wilderness  of  mountains.  To  the  left  was 
the  great  range  of  the  Ortler  Alps,  with  the  Ortler  Spitze 
rising  like  a  white  dome  above  them  all.  At  last  we  were 
among  the  snows.  We  were  above  the  line  of  vegetation, 
where  not  a  tree  grows,  nor  a  blade  of  grass — where  all  is  bar- 
renness and  desolation. 

The  Stelvio  is  utterly  impassable  the  greater  part  of  the 
year.  In  a  few  weeks  more  the  snows  will  fall.  By  the  end 
of  September  it  is  considered  unsafe,  and  the  passage  is 
attempted  at  one's  peril,  as  the  traveller  may  be  caught  in  a 
storm,  and  lost  on  the  mountain. 

Perhaps  some  of  my  readers  will  ask,  what  we  often  asked, 
What  is  the  use  of  building  a  road  amid  these  frightful  soli- 
tudes, when  it  cannot  be  travelled  the  greater  part  of  the 
year  ?  What  is  the  use  of  carrying  a  highway  up  into  the 
clouds  ?  Why  build  such  a  Jacob's  ladder  into  heaven  itself, 
since  after  all  this  is  not  the  way  to  get  to  heaven?  It 
must  have  cost  millions.  But  there  is  no  population  along 
the  road  to  justify  the  expense.  It  could  not  be  built  for  a 
few  poor  mountaineers.  And  yet  it  is  constructed  as  solidly 
as  if  it  were  the  Appian  way  leading  out  of  Rome.  It  is  an 
immense  work  of  engineering.  For  leagues  upon  leagues  it 
has  to  be  supported  by  solid  stone- work  to  prevent  its  being 
washed  away  by  torrents.  The  answer  is  easy.  It  is  a  mili- 
tary road,  built,  if  not  for  purposes  of  conquest,  yet  to  hold 


200  THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO. 

one  insecure  dominion.  Twenty  years  ago  the  upper  part  of 
Italy  was  a  dependency  of  Austria,  but  an  insecure  one,  al- 
ways in  a  chronic  state  of  discontent,  always  on  the  verge  of 
rebellion.  This  road  was  built  to  enable  the  government  at 
Vienna  to  move  troops  swiftly  through  the  Tyrol  over  this 
pass,  and  pour  them  down  upon  the  plains  of  Lombardy. 
Hannibal  and  Caesar  had  crossed  the  Alps,  but  the  achieve- 
ment was  the  most  daring  in  the  annals  of  ancient  warfare. 
Napoleon  passed  the  Great  St.  Bernard,  but  he  felt  the 
need  of  an  easier  passage  for  his  troops,  and  constructed  the 
Simplon,  not  from  a  benevolent  wish  to  benefit  mankind,  but 
simply  to  render  more  secure  his  hold  upon  Italy,  as  he 
showed  by  asking  the  engineers  who  came  to  report  upon  the 
progress  of  the  work,  w  When  will  the  road  be  ready  to  pass 
over  the  cannon  ?  "  Such  was  the  design  of  Austria  in  build- 
ing the  road  over  the  Stelvio.  But  man  proposes  and  God 
disposes.  It  was  built  with  the  resources  of  an  empire,  and 
now  that  it  is  finished,  Lombardy,  by  a  succession  of  events 
not  anticipated  in  the  royal  councils,  falls  to  reunited  Italy, 
and  this  road,  the  highest  in  Europe,  remains,  not  a  channel 
of  conquest,  but  a  highway  of  civilization. 

But  here  we  are  on  the  top  of  the  Pass,  from  which  we  can 
look  into  three  countries — an  empire,  a  kingdom,  and  a  re- 
public. Austria  is  behind  us,  and  Italy  is  before  us,  and 
Switzerland,  throned  on  the  Alps,  stands  close  beside  us. 
After  resting  awhile,  and  feasting  our  eyes  on  the  glorious 
sight,  we  prepare  to  descend. 

We  are  not  out  of  the  Tyrol,  even  when  we  have  crossed 
the  frontier,  for  there  is  an  Italian  as  well  as  an  Austrian 
Tyrol,  which  has  the  same  features,  and  may  be  said  to  ex- 
tend to  Lake  Como. 

The  descent  from  the  Stelvio  is  quite  as  wonderful  as  the 
ascent.  Perhaps  the  impression  is  even  greater,  as  the  de- 
scent is  more  rapid,  and  one  realizes  more  the  awful  height 
and  depth,  as  he  is  whirled  down  the  pass  by  a  hundred  zig- 


THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO.  201 

zag  turns,  over  bridges  and  through  galleries  of  rock,  till  at 
last,  at  the  close  of  a  long  summer's  day,  he  reaches  the 
Baths  of  Bormio,  and  plunging  into  one  of  the  baths,  for 
which  the  place  is  so  famous,  washes  away  the  dust  of  the 
journey,  and  rests  after  the  fatigue  of  a  day  never  to  be  for- 
gotten, in  which  he  made  the  Pass  of  the  Stelvio. 

For  one  fond  of  mountain  climbing,  who  wished  to  make 
foot  excursions  among  the  Alps,  there  are  not  many  better 
points  than  this  of  the  Baths  of  Bormio.  It  is  under  the 
shadow  of  the  great  mountains,  yet  is  itself  only  about  four 
thousand  feet  high,  so  that  it  is  easily  accessible  from  below, 
yet  it  is  nearly  half-way  up  to  the  heights  above. 

But  we  were  on  our  way  to  Italy,  and  the  next  day  con- 
tinued our  course  down  the  valley  of  the  Adda.  Hour  after 
hour  we  kept  going  down,  down,  till  it  seemed  as  if  we 
must  at  last  reach  the  very  bottom  of  the  mountains,  where 
their  granite  foundations  are  embedded  in  the  solid  mass  of 
the  planet.  But  this  descent  gave  us  a  succession  of  scenes 
of  indescribable  beauty.  Slowly  the  valley  widened  before 
us.  The  mountains  wore  a  rugged  aspect.  Instead  of  sterile 
masses  of  rock,  mantled  with  snows,  and  piercing  the  clouds, 
they  began  to  be  covered  with  pines,  which,  like  moss  upon 
rocks,  softened  and  beautified  their  rugged  breasts.  As  we 
advanced  still  farther,  the  slopes  were  covered  with  vine- 
yards ;  we  were  entering  the  land  of  the  olive  and  the  vine  ; 
terrace  on  terrace  rose  on  the  mountain  side  ;  every  shelf 
of  rock,  or  foot  of  ground,  where  a  vine  could  grow,  was 
covered.  The  rocky  soil  yields  the  most  delicious  grapes. 
Women  brought  us  great  clusters  ;  a  franc  purchased  enough 
for  our  whole  party.  The  industry  of  the  people  seemed 
more  like  the  habits  of  birds  building  their  nests  on  every 
point  of  vantage,  or  of  bees  constructing  their  precious  combs 
in  the  trunks  of  old  trees  or  in  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  than 
the  industry  of  human  creatures,  wiiich  requires  some 
little  "  verge  and  scope  "  for  its-  manifestations.  And  now 
9* 


202  THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO- 

along  tlie  banks  of  the  Adda  are  little  plots  of  level  gro.md, 
which  admit  of  other  cultivation.  Olives  trees  are  mingled 
with  the  vines.  There  are  orchards  too,  which  remind  us  of 
New  England.  Great  numbers  of  mulberry  trees  are  grown 
along  the  road,  for  the  raising  of  silk  is  one  of  the  industries 
of  Lombard y,  and  there  are  thousands  of  willows  by  the 
water-courses,  from  which  they  are  cutting  the  lithe  and  sup- 
ple branches,  to  be  woven  into  baskets.  It  is  the  glad  sum- 
mer time,  and  the  land  is  rejoicing  with  the  joy  of  harvest. 
"  The  valleys  are  covered  over  with  corn  ;  they  shout  for  joy  ; 
they  also  sing."  It  was  a  warm  afternoon,  and  the  people 
were  gathering  in  the  hay ;  and  a  pretty  sight  it  was  to  see 
men  and  women  in  the  fields  raking  the  rows,  and  very  sweet 
to  inhale  the  smell  of  the  new-mown  hay,  as  we  whirled  along 
the  road. 

These  are  pretty  features  of  an  Italian  landscape ;  I  wish 
that  the  impression  was  not  marred  by  some  which  are  less 
pleasant.  But  the  comfort  of  the  people  does  not  seem  to 
correspond  to  their  industry.  There  is  no  economy  in  their 
labor,  everything  is  done  in  the  old-fashioned  way,  and  in 
the  most  wasteful  methods.  I  did  not  see  a  mowing  or  a 
reaping  machine  in  the  Tyrol,  either  on  this  or  the  other 
side  of  the  mountains.  They  use  wooden  ploughs,  drawn  by 
cows  as  often  as  by  oxen,  and  so  little  management  have  they, 
that  one  person  is  employed,  generally  a  woman,  to  lead  the 
miserable  team,  or  rather  pull  them  along.  I  have  seen  a 
whole  family  attached  to  a  pair  of  sorry  cattle — the  man  hold- 
ing the  plough,  the  woman  pulling  the  rope  ahead,  and  a 
poor  little  chap,  who  did  his  best,  whipping  behind.  The 
crops  are  gathered  in  the  same  slipshod  way.  The  hay  is  all 
carried  in  baskets  on  the  backs  of  women.  It  was  a  pitiful 
sight  to  see  them  groaning  under  their  loads,  often  stopping 
by  the  roadside  to  rest.  I  longed  to  see  one  of  our  Berk- 
shire farmers  enter  the  hay-field  with  a  pair  of  lusty  oxen 
and   a   huge  cart,  which  would  transport  at  a  single   load 


THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO.  203 

a  weight  such  as  would  break  the  backs  of  all  the  women  in 
an  Italian  village. 

Of  course  women  subjected  to  this  kind  of  work,  are  soon 
bent  out  of  all  appearance  of  beauty  ;  and  when  to  this  is 
added  the  goitre,  which  prevails  to  a  shocking  extent  in 
these  mountain  valleys,  they  are  often  but  wretched  hags  in 
appearance. 

And  yet  the  Italians  have  a  "  gift  of  beauty,"  if  it  were 
only  not  marred  by  such  untoward  circumstances.  Many  a 
bright,  Spanish-looking  face  looked  out  of  windows,  and 
peered  from  under  the  arches,  as  we  rattled  through  the  vil- 
lages;  and  the  children  were  almost  always  pretty,  even 
though  in  rags.  With  their  dark  brown  faces,  curly  hair, 
and  large,  beautiful  eyes,  they  might  have  been  the  models  of 
Murillo'fl  beggars. 

We  dined  at  Tirano,  in  a  hotel  which  once  had  been  a 
monastery,  and  whose  spacious  rooms — very  comfortable 
"  cells  "  indeed — and  ample  cellars  for  their  wines,  and  large 
open  court,  surrounded  with  covered  arches,  where  the  good 
fathers  could  rest  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  showed  that  these 
old  monks,  though  so  intent  on  the  joys  of  the  next  world, 
were  not  wholly  indifferent  to  the  "  creature  comforts "  of 
this. 

Night  brought  us  to  Sondrio,  where  in  a  spacious  and  com- 
fortable inn,  which  we  remember  with  much  satisfaction 
after  our  long  rides,  we  slept  the  sleep  of  innocence  and 
peace. 

And  now  we  are  fairly  entered  into  Italy.  The  mountains 
are  behind  us,  and  the  lakes  are  before  us.  Friday  brought 
us  to  Lake  Como,  and  we  found  the  relief  of  exchanging  our 
ride  in  a  diligence  along  a  hot  and  dusty  road  for  a  sail  over 
this  most  enchanting  of  Italian,  perhaps  I  might  say  of 
European,  lakes  ;  for  after  seeing  many  in  different  countries, 
it  seems  to  me  that  this  is  M  better  than  all  the  waters  "  of 
Scotland  or  Switzerland.     It  is  a  daughter  of  the  Alps,  lying 


204  THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO. 

at  their  feet,  fed  by  their  snows,  and  reflecting  their  giant 
forms  in  its  placid  bosom.  And  here  on  its  shores  we  have 
pitched  onr  tent  to  rest  for  ten  days.  For  three  months  we 
have  been  travelling  almost  without  stopping,  sometimes,  to 
avoid  the  heat,  riding  all  night — as  from  Amsterdam  to  Ham- 
burg, and  from  Prague  to  Vienna.  The  last  week,  though 
very  delightful,  has  been  one  of  great  fatigue,  as  for  four 
days  in  succession  we  rode  twelve  or  thirteen  hours  a  day  in 
a  carriage  or  diligence.  After  being  thus  jolted  and  knocked 
about,  we  are  quite  willing  to  rest.  Nature  is  very  well, 
but  it  is  a  pleasant  change  once  in  awhile  to  return  to  civili- 
zation ;  to  have  the  luxury  of  a  bath,  and  to  sleep  quietly  in 
our  beds,  like  Christians,  instead  of  racing  up  and  down  in  the 
earth,  as  if  haunted  by  an  evil  spirit.  And  so  we  have  de- 
cided to  "  come  apart  and  rest  awhile,"  before  starting  on 
another  campaign. 

We  are  in  the  loveliest  spot  that  ever  a  tired  mortal  chose 
to  pillow  his  weary  head.  If  any  of  my  readers  are  coming 
abroad  for  a  summer,  and  wish  for  a  place  of  rest,  let  me 
recommend  to  them  this  quiet  retreat.  Cadenabbia  !  it  hath 
a  pleasant  sound,  and  it  is  indeed  an  enchanting  spot.  The 
mountains  are  all  around  us,  to  shut  out  the  world,  and  the 
gentle  waters  ripple  at  our  feet.  We  do  not  spend  the  time 
in  making  excursions,  for  in  this  balmy  air  it  is  a  sufficient 
luxury  to  exist.  We  are  now  writing  at  a  table  under  an 
avenue  of  fine  old  trees,  which  stretch  along  the  lake  to 
the  Villa  Carlotta,  a  princely  residence,  which  belongs  to  a 
niece  of  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  where  oranges  and  lemons 
are  growing  in  the  open  air,  and  hang  in  clusters  over  our 
heads,  and  where  one  may  pick  from  the  trees  figs  and  pome- 
granates. Here  we  sit  in  a  paradise  of  beauty,  and  send  our 
loving  thoughts  to  friends  over  the  sea. 

And  then,  if  tired  of  the  shore,  we  have  but  to  step  into  a 
boat,  and  float  "  at  our  own  sweet  will."  This  is  our  unfail- 
ing resource  when  the  day  is  over.     Boats  are  lying  in  front 


THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO.  205 

of  the  hotel,  and  strong-armed  rowers  are  ready  to  take  ns 
anywhere.  Across  the  lake,  which  is  here  but  two  miles 
wide,  is  Bellaggio,  with  its  great  hotels  along  the  water,  and 
its  numerous  villas  peering  out  from  the  dense  foliage  of  trees. 
How  they  glow  in  the  last  rays  of  the  sunset,  and  how  bril- 
liant the  lights  along  the  shore  at  evening.  Sometimes  we 
sail  across  to  visit  the  villas,  or  to  look  among  the  hotels  for 
friendly  American  names.  But  more  commonly  we  sail  up 
and  down,  only  for  the  pleasure  of  the  motion,  now  creeping 
along  by  the  shore,  under  the  shadow  of  the  mountains,  and 
now  "  launching  out  into  the  deep,"  and  rest,  like  one 
becalmed,  in  the  middle  of  the  lake.  We  do  not  want  to  go 
anywhere,  but  only  to  float  and  dream.  Row  gently,  boat- 
man !  Softly  and  slowly  !  Lentlssimo  !  Hush,  there  is  music 
on  the  shore.     We  stop  and  listen : 

"  My  soul  was  an  enchanted  boat, 
That  like  a  sleeping  swan  did  float, 
Upon  the  waves  of  that  sweet  singing. " 

But  better  than  music  or  the  waters  is  the  heaven  that  is 
above  the  waters,  and  that  is  reflected  in  the  tranquil  bosom 
of  the  lake.  Leaning  back  on  the  cushioned  seat,  we  look  up 
to  the  stars  as  old  friends,  as  they  are  the  only  objects  that 
we  recognize  in  the  heavens  above  or  the  earth  beneath. 
How  we  come  to  love  any  object  that  is  familiar.  I  confess 
it  is  with  a  tender  feeling  that  I  look  up  to  constellations 
that  have  so  often  shined  upon  me  in  other  lands,  when  other 
eyes  looked  up  with  mine.  How  sweet  it  is,  wherever  we  go, 
to  have  at  least  one  object  that  we  have  seen  before ;  one 
face  that  is  not  strange  to  us,  the  same  on  land  or  sea,  in 
Europe  and  America.  Thus  in  our  travels  I  have  learned  to 
look  up  to  the  stars  as  the  most  constant  friends.  They  are 
the  only  things  in  nature  that  remain  faithful.  The  moun- 
tains change  as  we  mov  e  from  country  to  country.  The  rivers 
know  us  not  as  they  glide  away  swiftly  to  the  sea.      But  the 


206  THE  TYROL  AND  LAKE  COMO. 

stars  are  always  the  same.  The  same  constellations  glow  in 
the  heavens  to-night  that  shone  on  Julius  Caesar  when  he  led 
his  legions  through  these  mountains  to  conquer  the  tribes  of 
Germany,  Caesar  is  gone,  and  sixty  generations  since,  but 
Orion  and  the  Pleiades  remain.  The  same  stars  are  here 
that  shone  on  Bethlehem  when  Christ  was  born ;  the  same 
that  now  shine  in  distant  lands  on  holy  graves ;  and  that  will 
look  down  with  pitying  eyes  on  our  graves  when  we  are  gone. 
Blessed  lights  in  the  heavens,  to  illumine  the  darkness  of  our 
earthly  existence  !  Are  they  not  the  best  witnesses  for  our 
Almighty  Creator, 

"  Forever  singing  as  they  shine 
The  hand  that  made  us  is  Divine  ?  B 

He  who  hath  set  his  bow  in  the  cloud,  hath  set  in  the  firma- 
ment that  is  above  the  clouds,  these  everlasting  signs  of  His 
own  faithfulness.  Who  that  looks  up  at  that  midnight  sky 
can  ever  again  doubt  His  care  and  love,  as  he  reads  these 
unchanging  memorials  of  an  unchanging  God  ? 


THE   CITY    IN   THE    SEA.  207 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    CITY   IN   THE    SEA. 

Venice,  Sept.  13th. 

It  was  with  real  regret  that  we  left  Lake  Como,  where  we 
had  passed  ten  very  quiet  but  very  happy  days.  But  all 
things  pleasant  must  have  an  end,  and  so  on  Monday  morn- 
ing we  departed.  Steamers  ply  up  and  down  the  lake,  but 
as  none  left  at  an  hour  early  enough  to  connect  with  a  train 
that  reached  Venice  the  same  evening,  we  took  a  boat  and 
were  rowed  to  Lecco.  It  was  a  three  hours'  pull  for  two 
strong  men ;  but  as  we  left  at  half-past  seven,  the  eastern 
mountains  protected  us  from  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  we 
glided  swiftly  along  in  their  cool  shadows.  Not  a  breath  of 
air  ruffled  the  bosom  of  the  lake.  Everything  in  this  part- 
ing view  conspired  to  make  us  regret  a  scene  of  which  we 
were  taking  a  long,  perhaps  a  last,  farewell. 

At  Lecco  we  came  back  to  railroads,  which  we  had  not 
seen  since  the  morning  we  left  Munich  for  Ober-Ammergau, 
more  than  two  weeks  before,  and  were  soon  flying  over  a 
cultivated  country,  where  orchards  of  mulberry  trees  (close- 
trimmed,  so  as  to  yield  a  second  crop  of  leaves  the  same  sea- 
son) gave  promise  of  the  rich  silks  of  Lombardy,  and  vines 
covered  all  the  terraced  slopes  of  the  hills. 

In  the  carriage  with  us  was  a  good  old  priest,  who  was 
attached  to  St.  Mark's  in  Yenice,  with  whom  we  fell  in  con- 
versation, and  who  gave  us  much  information  about  the 
picturesque  country  through  which  we  were  passing.  Here, 
where  the  land  is  smiling  so  peacefully,  among  these  very 
hills,  "  rich  with  corn  and  wine,"  was  fought  the  great  battle 


208  THE    CITY    IN    THE    SEA. 

in  which  Venice  defeated  Frederick  Barbarossa,   and  thus 
saved  the  cause  of  Italian  independence. 

At  Bergamo  we  struck  the  line  from  Milan  to  Venice,  and 
while  waiting  an  hour  for  the  express  train,  sauntered  off 
with  the  old  priest  into  the  town,  which  was  just  then  alive 
with  the  excitement  of  its  annual  fair.  The  peasants  had 
come  in  from  all  the  country  round — men  and  women,  boys 
and  girls — to  enjoy  a  holiday,  bringing  whatever  they  had  to 
sell,  and  seeking  whatever  they  had  to  buy.  One  might  im- 
agine that  he  was  in  an  old-fashioned  u  cattle  show"  at  home. 
Farmers  had  brought  young  colts  which  they  had  raised  for 
the  market,  and  some  of  the  brawny  fellows,  with  broad- 
brimmed  hats,  answered  to  the  drovers  one  may  see  in  Kan- 
sas, who  have  driven  the  immense  herds  of  cattle  from  Texas. 
In  another  part  of  the  grounds  were  exposed  for  sale  the 
delicate  fabrics  and  rich  colors  which  tempt  the  eye  of 
woman  :  silks  and  scarfs  and  shawls,  with  many  of  the  sex, 
young  and  old,  looking  on  with  eager  eyes.  And  there  were 
sports  for  the  children.  A  merry-go-round  picked  up  its 
load  of  little  creatures,  who,  mounted  on  wooden  horses, 
were  whirled  about  to  their  infinite  delight  at  a  penny 
apiece — a  great  deal  of  happiness  for  a  very  little  money. 
And  there  were  all  sorts  of  shows  going  on — little  enclosures, 
where  something  wonderful  was  to  be  seen,  the  presence  of 
which  was  announced  by  the  beating  of  a  drum ;  and  a  big 
tent  with  a  circus,  which  from  the  English  names  of  the  per- 
formers may  have  been  a  strolling  company  from  the  British 
Islands,  or  possibly  from  America  !  It  would  be  strange  in- 
deed, if  a  troupe  of  Yankee  riders  and  jumpers  had  come  all 
the  way  to  Italy,  to  make  the  country  folk  stare  at  their  sur- 
prising feats.  And  there  was  a  menagerie,  which  one  did 
not  need  to  enter:  for  the  wild  beasts  painted  on  the  outside 
of  the  canvas,  were  no  doubt  much  more  ferocious  and  terri- 
ble to  behold  than  the  subdued  and  lamb-like  creatures  within. 
Is  not  a  Country  Fair  the  same  thing  all  over  the  world  ? 


THE    CITY   IN   THE    SEA.  209 

At  length  the  train  came  rushing  up,  and  stopping  but  a 
moment  for  passengers,  dashed  off  like  a  race-horse  over  the 
great  plain  of  Lombardy.  But  we  must  not  go  so  fast  as  to 
overlook  this  historic-  ground.  Suddenly,  like  a  sheet  of  sil- 
ver, unrolls  before  us  the  broad  surface  of  the  Lago  di  Garda, 
the  greatest  of  the  Italian  lakes,  stretching  far  into  the 
plain,  but  with  its  head  resting  against  the  background  of 
the  Tyrolean  Alps.  What  memories  gather  about  these 
places  from  the  old  Roman  days !  In  yonder  peninsula  in 
the  lake,  Catullus  wrote  his  poems ;  in  Mantua,  a  few  miles 
to  the  south,  Virgil  was  born ;  while  in  Yerona  an  amphi- 
theatre remains  in  excellent  preservation,  which  is  second 
only  to  the  Coliseum.  In  events  of  more  recent  date  this 
region  is  full  of  interest.  We  are  now  in  the  heart  of  the 
famous  Quadrilateral,  the  Four  great  Fortresses,  built  to 
overawe  as  well  as  defend  Upper  Italy.  All  this  ground  was 
fought  over  by  the  first  Napoleon  in  his  Italian  campaigns ; 
while  near  at  hand  is  the  field  of  Solferino,  where  under  Na- 
poleon III.  a  French  army,  with  that  of  Victor  Emmanuel, 
finally  conquered  the  independence  of  Italy. 

More  peaceful  memories  linger  about  Padua,  whose 
University,  that  is  over  six  hundred  years  old,  was  long  one 
of  the  chief  seats  of  learning  in  Europe,  within  whose  walls 
Galileo  studied  ;  and  Tasso  and  Ariosto  and  Petrarch  ;  and 
the  reformer  and  martyr  Savonarola. 

But  all  these  places  sink  in  interest,  as  just  at  evening  we 
reach  the  end  of  the  main  land,  and  passing  over  the  long 
causeway  which  crosses  the  Lagune,  find  ourselves  in 
Venice.  It  seems  very  prosaic  to  enter  Venice  by  a  rail- 
road, but  the  prose  ceases  and  the  poetry  begins  the  instant 
we  emerge  from  the  station,  for  the  marble  steps  descend  to 
the  water,  and  instead  of  stepping  into  a  carriage  we  step 
into  a  gondola  ;  and  as  we  move  off  we  leave  behind  the  firm 
ground  of  ordinary  experience,  and  our  imagination,  like  our 
pei sons,  is  afloat.     Everything  is  strange  and   unreal.     We 


210  THE    CITY    IN    THE    SEA. 

are  in  a  great  city,  and  yet  we  cannot  put  our  feet  to  the 
ground.  There  is  no  sound  of  carriages  rattling  over  the 
stony  streets,  for  there  is  not  a  horse  in  Venice.  We  cannot 
realize  where  and  what  we  are.  The  impression  is  greatly 
heightened  in  arriving  at  night,  for  the  canals  are  but  dimly 
lighted,  and  darkness  adds  to  the  mystery  of  this  city  of 
silence.  Now  and  then  we  see  a  light  in  a  window,  and 
somebody  leans  from  a  balcony  ;  and  we  hear  the  plashing  of 
oars  as  a  gondola  shoots  by;  but  these  occasional  signs  of 
life  only  deepen  the  impression  of  loneliness,  till  it  seems  as  if 
we  were  in  a  world  of  ghosts — nay,  to  be  ghosts  ourselves — 
and  to  be  gliding  through  misty  shapes  and  shadows ;  as  if 
we  had  touched  the  black  waters  of  Death,  and  the  silent 
Oarsman  himself  were  guiding  our  boat  to  his  gloomy  realm. 
Thus  sunk  in  reverie,  we  floated  along  the  watery  streets, 
past  the  Kialto,  and  under  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  to  the  Hotel 
Danieli  on  the  Grand  Canal,  just  behind  the  Palace  of  the 
Doges. 

When  the  morning  broke,  and  we  could  see  things  about 
us  in  plain  daylight,  we  set  ourselves,  like  dutiful  travellers, 
to  see  the  sights,  and  now  in  a  busy  week  have  come  to  know 
something  of  Venice  ;  to  feel  that  it  is  not  familiar  ground, 
bat  familiar  water,  familiar  canals  and  bridges,  and  churches 
and  palaces.  We  have  been  up  on  the  Campanile,  and 
looked  down  upon  the  city,  as  it  lies  spread  out  like  a  map 
under  our  eye,  with  all  its  islands  and  its  waters ;  and  we 
have  sailed  around  it  and  through  it,  going  down  to  the 
Lido,  and  looking  off  upon  the  Adriatic  ;  and  then  coursing 
about  the  Lagune,  and  up  and  down  the  Grand  Canal  and 
the  Giudecca,  and  through  many  of  the  smaller  canals,  which 
intersect  the  city  in  every  direction.  We  have  visited  the 
church  of  St.  Mark,  rich  with  its  colored  marbles  and 
mosaics,  and  richer  still  in  its  historic  memories  ;  and  the 
Palace  where  the  Doges  reigned,  and  the  church  where  they 
are  buried,  the  Westminster   Abbey  of  Venice,  where  the 


THE   CITY    IN    TI1E    SEA.  211 

rulers  of  many  generations  lie  together  in  their  royal  house  of 
death ;  we  have  visited  the  Picture  Galleries,  and  seen  the 
paintings  of  Titian  and  the  statues  of  Canova,  and  then 
looked  on  the  marble  tombs  in  the  church  of  the  Frati,  where 
sleep  these  two  masters  of  different  centuries.  Thus  we  have 
tried  to  weave  together  the  artistic,  the  architectural,  and  the 
historical  glories  of  this  wonderful  city. 

There  is  no  city  in  Europe  about  which  there  is  so  much 
of  romance  as  Venice,  and  of  real  romance  (if  that  be  not  a 
contradiction),  that  is,  of  romance  founded  on  reality,  for 
indeed  the  reality  is  stranger  than  fiction.  Its  very  aspect 
dazzles  the  eye,  as  the  traveller  approaches  from  the  east, 
and  sees  the  morning  sun  reflected  from  its  domes  and 
towers.  And  how  like  an  apparition  it  seems,  when  he 
reflects  that  all  that  glittering  splendor  rests  on  the  unsub- 
stantial sea.  It  is  a  jewel  set  in  water,  or  rather  it  seems 
to  rise,  like  a  gigantic  sea-flower,  out  of  the  waves,  and  to 
spread  a  kind  of  tropical  bloom  over  the  far-shining  expanse 
around  it. 

And  then  its  history  is  as  strange  and  marvellous  as  any 
tale  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  It  is  the  wildest  romance  turned 
into  reality.  Venice  is  the  oldest  State  in  Europe.  The 
proudest  modern  empires  are  but  of  yesterday  compared  with 
it.  When  Britain  was  a  howling  wilderness,  when  London 
and  Paris  were  insignificant  towns,  the  Queen  of  the  Adri- 
atic was  in  the  height  of  its  glory.  Macaulay  says  the 
Republic  of  Venice  came  next  in  antiquity  to  the  Church  of 
Home.  Thus  he  places  it  before  all  the  kingdoms  of  Eu- 
rope, being  antedated  only  by  that  hoary  Ecclesiastical 
Dominion,  which  (as  he  writes  so  eloquently  in  his  celebrated 
review  of  Ranke's  History  of  the  Popes)  began  to  live  before 
all  the  nations,  and  may  endure  till  that  famous  New  Zea- 
lander  "  shall  take  his  stand,  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  solitude, 
on  a  broken  arch  of  London  Bridge,  to  sketch  the  ruins  of 
St.  Paul's." 


212  THE    CITY    IN   THE    SEA. 

And  this  history,  dating  so  far  back,  is  connected  with 
monuments  still  standing,  which  recall  it  vividly  to  the 
modern  traveller.  The  church  of  St.  Mark  is  a  whole 
volume  in  itself.  It  is  one  of  the  oldest  churches  in  the 
world,  boasting  of  having  under  its  altar  the  very  bones  of 
St.  Mark,  and  behind  it  alabaster  columns  from  the  Temple 
of  Solomon,  while  over  its  ancient  portal  the  four  bronze 
horses  still  stand  proudly  erect,  which  date  at  least  from  the 
time  of  Nero,  and  are  perhaps  the  work  of  a  Grecian  sculp- 
tor who  lived  before  the  birth  of  Christ.  And  the  Palace  of 
the  Doges — is  it  not  a  history  of  centuries  written  in  stone? 
What  grand  spectacles  it  has  witnessed  in  the  days  of 
Venetian  splendor !  What  pomp  and  glory  have  been 
gathered  within  its  walls !  And  what  deliberations  have 
been  carried  on  in  its  council  chambers ;  what  deeds  of 
patriotism  have  been  there  conceived,  and  also  what  con- 
spiracies and  what  crimes  !  And  the  Prison  behind  it,  with 
the  Bridge  of  Sighs  leading  to  it,  does  not  every  stone  in 
that  gloomy  pile  seem  to  have  a  history  written  in  blood  and 
tears  ? 

But  the  part  of  Venice  in  European  history  was  not  only 
a  leading  one  for  more  than  a  thousand  years,  but  a  noble 
one;  it  took  the  foremost  place  in  European  civilization, 
which  it  preserved  after  the  barbarians  had  overrun  the 
Roman  Empire.  The  Middle  Ages  would  have  been  Dark 
Ages  indeed,  but  for  the  light  thrown  into  them  by  the 
Italian  Republics.  It  was  after  the  Roman  empire  had  fallen 
under  the  battle-axes  of  the  German  barbarians  that  the  an- 
cient Veneti  took  refuge  on  these  low-lying  islands,  finding 
a  defence  in  the  surrounding  waters,  and  here  began  to 
build  a  city  in  the  sea.  Its  position  at  the  head  of  the 
Adriatic  was  favorable  for  commerce,  and  it  soon  drew  to  it- 
self the  rich  trade  of  the  East.  It  sent  out  its  ships  to  all 
parts  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  even  beyond  the  Pillars  of 
Hercules.     And  so,  century  after  century,  it  grew  in  power 


THE    CITY    IN    THE    SEA.  213 

and  splendor,  till  it  was  the  greatest  maritime  city  in  the 
world.  It  was  the  lord  of  the  waves,  and  in  sign  of  its 
supremacy,  it  was  married  to  the  sea  with  great  pomp  and 
magnificence.  In  the  Arsenal  is  shown  the  model  of  the 
Bucentaur,  that  gilded  barge  in  which  the  Doge  and  the  Sen- 
ate were  every  year  carried  down  the  harbor,  and  dropping  a 
ring  of  gold  and  gems  (large  as  one  of  those  huge  door- 
knockers that  in  former  days  gave  dignity  to  the  portals  of 
great  mansions)  into  the  waves,  signified  the  marriage  of 
Venice  to  the  sea.*  It  was  the  contrast  of  this  display  of 
power  and  dominion  with  the  later  decline  of  Venetian 
commerce,  that  suggested  the  melancholy  line, 

"  The  spouseless  Adriatic  mourns  her  lord." 

But  then  Venice  was  as  much  mistress  of  the  sea  as  Eng- 
land is  to-day.     She  sat  at  the  gates  of  the  Orient,  and 

"  The  gorgeous  East  with  richest  hand 

Showered  upon  her  barbaric  pearl  and  gold." 

Then  arose  on  all  her  islands  and  her  waters  those  structures 
which  are  to  this  day  the  wonder  of  Europe.  The  Grand 
Canal,  which  is  nearly  two  miles  long,  is  lined  with  palaces, 
such  as  no  modern  capital  can  approach  in  costliness  and 
splendor. 

And  Venice  used  her  power  for  a  defence  to  Christendom 
and  to  civilization,  the  former  against  the  Turks,  and  the  lat- 
ter against  Northern  barbarians.      When  Frederick  Barba- 


*  Lest  any  of  my  saving  countrymen  should  think  this  a  sacrifice 
of  precious  jewels,  it  should  be  added  that  the  cunning  old  Venetians, 
with  a  prudent  economy  worthy  of  a  Yankee  housekeeper,  instead  of 
wasting  their  treasures  on  the  sea,  dropped  the  glittering  bauble  into 
a  net  carefully  spread  for  the  purpose,  in  which  it  was  fished  up,  to 
be  used  in  the  ceremonies  of  successive  years. 


214  THE    CITY    IN   THE    SEA. 

rossa  came  down  with  his  hordes  upon  Italy,  he  found  his 
most  stubborn  enemy  in  the  Republic  of  Venice,  which  kept 
up  the  contest  for  more  than  twenty  years,  till  the  fierce  old 
Emperor  acknowledged  a  power  that  was  invincible,  and 
here  in  Venice,  in  the  church  of  St.  Mark,  knelt  before  the 
Pope  Alexander  III.  (who  represented,  not  Rome  against 
Protestantism,  but  Italian  independence  against  German  op- 
pression), and  gave  his  humble  submission,  and  made  peace 
with  the  States  of  Italy  which,  thanks  to  the  heroic  resist- 
ance of  Venice,  he  could  not  conquer. 

Hardly  was  this  long  contest  ended  before  the  power  ot 
Venice  was  turned  against  the  Turks  in  the  East.  Vene- 
tians, aided  by  French  crusaders,  and  led  by  a  warrior 
whose  courage  neither  age  nor  blindness  could  restrain  ("  Oh 
for  one  hour  of  blind  old  Dandolo  !  "),  captured  Constantino- 
ple, and  Venetian  ships  sailing  up  and  down  the  Bosphorus 
kept  the  conquerors  of  Western  Asia  from  crossing  into  Eu- 
rope. The  Turks  finally  passed  the  straits  and  took  Con- 
stantinople ;  but  the  struggle  of  the  Cross  and  the  Crescent, 
as  in  Spain  between  the  Spaniard  and  the  Moor,  was  kept 
up  over  a  hundred  years  longer,  and  was  not  ended  till  the 
battle  of  Lepanto  in  1571.  In  the  Arsenal  they  still  pre- 
serve the  flag  of  the  Turkish  admiral  captured  on  that  great 
day,  with  its  motto  in  Arabic,  "  There  is  no  God  but  God, 
and  Mohammed  is  his  prophet."  We  can  hardly  realize,  now 
that  the  danger  is  so  long  past,  how  great  a  victory,  both  for 
Christendom  and  for  civilization,  was  won  on  that  day  when 
the  scattered  wrecks  of  the  Turkish  Armada  sank  in  the 
blood-dyed  waters  of  the  Gulf  of  Corinth. 

These  are  glorious  memories  for  Venice,  which  fully  justify 
the  praises  of  historians,  and  make  the  splendid  eulogy  of 
Byron  as  true  to  history  as  it  is  beautiful  in  poetry.  In 
Venice,  as  on  the  Rhine,  I  have  found  Childe  Harold  the 
best  guide-book,  as  the  poet  paints  a  picture  in  a  few  immor- 
tal lines.     Never  was  Venice  painted,  even  by  Canaletto, 


THE   CITY   IN   THE   SEA.  215 

more  to  the  eye  than  in  these  few  strokes,  which  bring  the 
whole  scene  before  us : 

I  stood  in  Venice  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
A  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  hand, 
I  saw  from  out  the  waves  her  structures  rise, 
As  by  the  stroke  of  the  enchanter's  wand, 
A  thousand  years  their  cloudy  wings  expand 
Around  me,  and  a  dying  glory  smiles 
O'er  the  far  times  when  many  a  subject  land 
Looked  to  the  winged  lion's  marble  piles, 
There  Venice  sate  in  state,  throned  on  her  hundred  isles. 

But  poets  are  apt  to  look  at  things  only  in  a  poetical 
light,  and  to  admire  and  to  celebrate,  or  to  mourn,  according 
to  their  own  royal  fancies,  rather  than  according  to  the  sober 
prose  of  history.  The  picture  of  the  magnificence  of  Venice 
is  true  to  the  letter,  for  indeed  no  language  can  surpass  the 
splendid  reality.  But  when  the  poet  goes  farther  and 
laments  the  loss  of  its  independence,  as  if  it  were  a  loss  to 
liberty  and  to  the  world,  the  honest  student  of  history  will 
differ  from  him.  That  he  should  mourn  its  subjection,  or 
that  of  any  part  of  Italy,  to  a  foreign  power,  whether  Aus- 
tria or  France,  we  can  well  understand.  And  this  was  per- 
haps his  only  real  sorrow — a  manly  and  patriotic  grief — but 
at  times  he  seems  to  go  farther,  and  to  regret  the  old  gor- 
geous mediae val  state.  Here  we  cannot  follow  him.  Poetry 
is  well,  and  romance  is  well,  but  truth  is  better;  and  the 
truth,  as  history  records  it,  must  be  confessed,  that  Venice, 
though  in  name  a  republic,  was  as  great  a  despotism  as  any 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  people  had  no  power  whatever. 
It  was  all  in  the  hands  of  the  nobles,  some  five  hundred  of 
whom  composed  the  Senate,  and  elected  the  famous  Council 
of  Ten,  by  which,  with  the  Senate,  was  chosen  the  Council 
of  Three,  who  were  the  real  masters  of  Venice.  The  Doge, 
who  was  generally  an  old  man,  was  a  mere  puppet  in  their 


216  THE    CITY    IN   THE    SEA. 

hands,  a  venerable  figure-head  of  the  State,  to  hide  what  was 
done  by  younger  and  more  resolute  wills.  The  Council  of 
Three  were  the  real  Dictators  of  the  Republic,  and  the  Tri- 
bunal of  the  Inquisition  itself  was  not  more  mysterious  or 
more  terrible.  By  some  secret  mode  of  election  the  names 
of  those  who  composed  this  council  were  not  known  even  to 
their  associates  in  the  Senate  or  in  the  Council  of  Ten.  They 
were  a  secret  and  therefore  wholly  irresponsible  tribunal. 
Their  names  were  concealed,  so  that  they  could  act  in  the 
dark,  and  at  their  will  strike  down  the  loftiest  head.  Ouce 
indeed  their  vengeance  struck  the  Doge  himself.  I  have 
had  in  my  hands  the  very  sword  which  cut  off  the  head  of 
Marino  Faliero  more  than  five  hundred  years  ago.  It  is  a 
tremendous  weapon,  and  took  both  hands  to  lift  it,  and  must 
have  fallen  upon  that  princely  neck  like  an  axe  upon  the 
block.  But  commonly  their  power  fell  on  meaner  victims. 
The  whole  system  of  government  was  one  of  terror,  kept  up 
by  a  secret  esjnonage  which  penetrated  every  man's  house- 
hold, and  struck  mortal  fear  into  every  heart.  The  govern- 
ment invited  accusations.  The  "  lion's  mouth  " — an  aper- 
ture in  the  palace  of  the  Doges — was  always  open,  and  if  a 
charge  against  one  was  thrown  into  it,  instantly  he  was 
arrested  and  brought  before  this  secret  tribunal,  by  which  he 
might  be  tried,  condemned,  sentenced,  and  executed,  without 
his  family  knowing  what  had  become  of  him,  with  only  hor- 
rible suspicions  to  account  for  his  mysterious  disappearance. 
In  going  through  the  Palace  of  the  Doges  one  is  struck 
with  the  gorgeousness  of  the  old  Venetian  State.  All  that 
is  magnificent  in  architecture;  and  all  that  is  splendid  in 
decoration,  carving,  and  gilding,  spread  with  lavish  hand 
over  walls  and  doors  and  ceiling ;  with  every  open  space  or 
panel  illumined  by  paintings  by  Titian  or  some  other  of  the 
old  Venetian  masters — are  combined  to  render  this  more 
than  a  "  royal  house,"  since  it  is  richer  than  the  palaces  of 
kings. 


THE    CITY   IN   TIIE    SEA.  217 

But  before  any  young  enthusiast  allows  his  imagination 
to  run  away  with  him,  let  him  explore  this  Palace  of  the 
Doges  a  little  farther.  Let  him  go  into  the  Hall  of  the 
Council  of  Three,  and  observe  how  it  connects  conveniently 
by  a  little  stair  with  the  Hall  of  Torture,  where  innocent 
persons  could  soon  be  persuaded  to  accuse  themselves  of 
deadly  crimes;  and  how  it  opens  into  a  narrow  passage, 
through  which  the  condemned  passed  to  swift  execution. 
Then  let  him  go  down  into  the  dungeons,  worse  than  death, 
where  the  accused  were  buried  in  a  living  tomb.  Byron 
himself,  in  a  note  to  Childe  Harold,  has  given  the  best  an- 
swer to  his  own  lamentation  over  the  fall  of  the  Republic  of 
Venice.* 

*  The  note  is  on  the  opening  lines  of  the  fourth  Canto  : 

'*  I  stood  in  Venice  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
A  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  hand," 

— in  explanation  of  which  the  poet  says  : 

"  The  communication  between  the  ducal  palace  and  the  prisons  of 
Venice  is  by  a  gloomy  bridge,  or  covered  gallery,  high  above  the 
water,  and  divided  by  a  stone  wall  into  a  passage  and  a  cell.  The 
State  dungeons,  called  '  pozzi,'  or  wells,  were  sunk  into  the  thick 
walls  of  the  palace ;  and  the  prisoner,  when  taken  out  to  die,  was 
conducted  across  the  gallery  to  the  other  side,  and  being  then  led 
back  into  the  other  compartment  or  cell  upon  the  bridge,  was  there 
strangled.  The  low  portal  through  which  the  criminal  was  taken 
into  this  cell  is  now  walled  up ;  but  the  passage  is  still  open,  and  is 
still  known  as  the  Bridge  of  Sighs.  The  pozzi  are  under  the  flooring 
of  the  chamber  at  the  foot  of  the  bridge.  They  were  formerly 
twelve,  but  on  the  first  arrival  of  the  French,  the  Venetians  blocked 
or  broke  up  the  deeper  of  these  dungeons.  You  may  still,  however, 
descend  by  a  trap-door,  and  crawl  down  through  holes,  half- choked 
by  rubbish,  to  the  depth  of  two  stories  below  the  first  range.  If  you 
are  in  want  of  consolation  for  the  extinction  of  patrician  power,  per- 
haps you  may  find  it  there ;  scarcely  a  ray  of  light  glimmers  into  the 
narrow  gallery  which  leads  to  the  cells,  and  the  places  of  confine- 
ment themselves  are  totally  dark.  A  small  hole  in  the  wall  ad- 
10 


218  THE    CITY    IN   THE    SEA. 

We  shall  therefore  waste  no  tears  over  the  fall  of  the  old 
Republic  of  Venice,  even  though  it  had  existed  for  thirteen 
hundred  years.  In  its  day  it  had  acted  a  great  part  in  Eu- 
ropean history,  and  had  often  served  the  cause  of  progress, 
when  it  preserved  Christendom  from  the  Turks,  and  civili- 
zation from  the  Barbarians.  But  it  had  accomplished  its 
end,  and  its  time  had  come  to  die ;  and  though  the  poet  so 
musically  mourns  that 

In  Venice  Tasso's  echoes  are  no  more, 
And  silent  rows  the  songless  gondolier, 

yet  in  the  changes  which  have  come,  we  cannot  but  recog- 
nize the  passing  away  of  an  old  state  of  things,  to  be  suc- 
ceeded by  a  better.  Even  the  spirit  of  Byron  would  be 
satisfied,  could  he  open  his  eyes  now,  and  see  Venice  rid  at 
last  of  a  foreign  yoke,  and  restored  to  her  rightful  place, 
as  a  part  of  free  and  united  Italy. 

Though  Venice  is  a  city  which  does  not  change  in  its  ex- 
ternal appearance,  and  looks  just  as  it  did  when  I  was  here 
seventeen  years  ago,  I  observe  one  difference  ;  the  flag  that 
is  flying  from  all  the  public  buildings  is  not  the  same.  Then 
the  black  eagles  of  Austria  hovered  over  the  Square  of  St. 
Mark ;  and  as  we  sat  there  in  the  summer  evening,  Austrian 
officers  were  around  us,  in  front  of  the  cafes,  and  the  music 
was  by  an  Austrian  band.  Now  there  is  music  still,  and  on 
summer  nights  the  old  Piazza  is  thronged  as  ever  ;  but  I  hear 

mitted  the  damp  air  of  the  passages,  and  served  for  the  introduction 
of  the  prisoner's  food.  A  wooden  pallet,  raised  a  foot  from  the 
ground,  was  the  only  furniture.  The  conductor  tells  you  that  a  light 
was  not  allowed.  The  cells  are  about  five  paces  in  length,  two  and 
a  half  in  width,  and  seven  feet  in  height.  They  are  directly  beneath 
one  another,  and  respiration  is  somewhat  difficult  in  the  lower  holes. 
Only  one  prisoner  was  found  when  the  Republicans  descended  into 
these  hideous  recesses,  and  he  is  said  to  have  been  confined  sixteen 
years." 


THE   CITY    IN   THE    SEA.  219 

another  language  in  the  groups — the  hated  foreigner,  with 
his  bayonets,  is  not  here.  The  change  is  every  way  for  the 
better.  The  people  breathe  freely,  and  political  and  national 
life  revives  in  the  air  of  liberty. 

Venice  is  beginning  to  have  also  a  return  of  its  commercial 
prosperity.  Of  course  it  can  never  again  be  the  mistress  of 
the  sea,  as  other  great  commercial  states  have  sprung  up  be- 
yond the  Mediterranean.  The  glory  of  Venice  culminated 
about  the  year  1500.  Eight  years  before  that  date,  an  Ital- 
ian sailor — though  not  a  Venetian,  but  a  Genoese — had  dis- 
covered, lying  beyond  the  western  main,  a  New  World.  In 
less  than  four  centuries,  the  commerce  which  had  flourished 
on  the  Adriatic  was  to  pass  to  England,  and  that  other  Eng- 
lish Empire  still  more  remote.  Venice  can  never  regain  her 
former  supremacy.  Civilization  has  passed,  and  left  her 
standing  in  the  sea.  But  though  she  can  never  again  take 
the  lead  of  other  nations,  she  may  still  have  a  happy  and 
a  prosperous  future.  There  is  the  commerce  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, for  which,  as  before,  she  holds  a  commanding  position 
at  the  head  of  the  Adriatic.  For  some  days  has  been  lying 
in  the  Grand  Canal,  in  front  of  our  hotel,  a  large  steamer  of 
the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Steamship  Company,  the  Delhi, 
and  on  Friday  she  sailed  for  Alexandria  and  Bombay  !  The 
transference  of  these  ships  to  Venice  as  a  point  of  departure, 
will  help  its  commerce  with  the  East  and  with  India. 

One  thing  we  may  be  allowed  to  hope,  as  a  friend  of  Ven- 
ice and  of  Italy — that  its  policy  will  be  one  of  peace.  In  the 
Arsenal  we  found  models  of  ironclads  and  other  ships  of  war, 
built  or  building ;  but  I  confess  I  felt  rather  glad  to  hear  the 
naval  officer  who  showed  them  to  us  confess  (though  he  did 
it  with  a  tone  of  regret)  that  their  navy  was  not  large  com- 
pared with  other  European  navies,  and  that  the  Government 
was  not  doing  much  to  increase  it,  though  it  is  building  dry 
docks  here  in  Venice,  and  occasionally  adds  a  ship  to  the 
fleet.     Yet  what  does  Italy  want  of  a  great  navy  ?  or  a  great 


220  THE    CITY    IN   THE    SEA. 

army  ?  They  eat  up  the  substance  of  the  country ;  and  it 
has  no  money  to  waste  on  needless  armaments.  Besides, 
Italy  has  no  enemy  to  fear,  for  both  France  and  Germany 
are  friendly ;  to  France  she  owes  the  deliverance  of  Lom- 
bardy,  and  to  Germany  that  of  Yenice.  And  even  Austria 
is  reconciled.  Last  April  the  Emperor  made  a  visit  to  Ven- 
ice, and  was  received  by  Victor  Emmanuel,  and  was  rowed 
up  the  Grand  Canal  with  a  state  which  recalled  the  pomp  of 
her  ancient  days  of  glory. 

The  future  therefore  of  Venice  and  of  Italy  is  not  in  war, 
but  in  peace.  Venice  has  had  enough  of  war  in  former  cen- 
turies— enough  of  conflicts  on  land  and  sea.  She  can  now 
afford  to  live  on  this  rich  inheritance  of  glory.  Let  her 
cherish  the  memory  of  the  heroic  days  of  old,  but  let  her  not 
tempt  fortune  by  venturing  again  into  the  smoke  of  battle. 
Let  her  keep  in  her  Arsenal  the  captured  flags  taken  from  the 
Turks  at  Lepanto  ;  let  the  three  tall  masts  of  cedar,  erected 
in  the  Square  of  St.  Mark  three  hundred  and  seventy  years 
ago,  to  commemorate  the  conquest  of  Cyprus,  Candia,  and 
Morea,  still  stand  as  historical  mementoes  of  the  past ;  but 
it  is  no  sacrifice  of  pride  that  they  no  longer  bear  the  ban- 
ners of  conquered  provinces,  since  from  their  lofty  and 
graceful  heads  now  floats  a  far  prouder  ensign — the  flag  of 
one  undivided  Italy. 

If  I  were  to  choose  an  emblem  of  what  the  future  of  this 
country  should  be,  I  would  that  the  arms  of  Venice  might  be 
henceforth,  not  the  winged  lion  of  St.  Mark,  but  the  doves  of 
St.  Mark  :  for  these  equally  belong  to  Venice,  and  form  not 
only  one  of  its  prettiest  sights,  but  one  connected  with  his- 
torical associations,  that  make  them  fit  emblems  both  of 
peace  and  of  victory.  The  story  is  that  at  the  siege  of  Can- 
dia, in  the  beginning  of  the  Thirteenth  century,  Admiral  Dan- 
dolo  had  intelligence  brought  to  him  by  carrier-pigeons  which 
helped  him  to  take  the  island,  and  that  he  used  the  same 
swift- winged  heralds  to  send   the  news  to  Venice.     And  so 


THE    CITY    IN    THE    SEA.  221 

from  that  day  to  this  they  have  been  protected,  and  thus 
they  have  been  the  pets  of  Venice  for  six  hundred  years. 
They  seem  perfectly  at  home,  and  build  their  nests  on  the 
roofs  and  under  the  eaves  of  the  houses,  even  on  the  Doge's 
Palace  and  the  Church  of  St.  Mark.  Not  the  swallow,  but 
the  dove  hath  found  a  nest  for  herself  on  the  house  of  the 
Lord.  I  see  them  nestling  together  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
thinking  not  of  all  the  broken  hearts  that  have  passed  along 
that  gloomy  arch.  A  favorite  perch  at  evening  is  the  heavy 
cross-bars  of  the  prison  windows  ;  there  they  sleep  peacefully, 
where  lonely  captives  have  looked  up  to  the  dim  light,  and 
sighed  in  vain  for  liberty.  From  all  these  nooks  and  corners 
they  flock  into  the  great  square  in  the  day-time,  and  walk 
abou*  quite  undisturbed.  It  has  been  one  of  our  pleasures  to 
go  there  with  bread  in  our  pockets,  to  feed  them.  At  the 
first  sign  of  the  scattered  crumbs,  they  come  fluttering  down 
from  the  buildings  around,  running  over  each  other  in  their 
eagerness,*  coming  up  to  my  feet,  and  eating  out  of  my  hand. 
Let  these  beautiful  creatures — the  emblems  of  peace  and  the 
messengers  of  victory — be  wrought  as  an  armorial  bearing  on 
the  flag  of  the  new  Italy — white  doves  on  a  blue  ground,  as 
if  flying  over  the  sea — their  outspread  wings  the  fit  emblems 
of  those  sails  of  commerce,  which,  we  trust,  are  again  to  go 
forth  from  Venice  and  from  Genoa,  not  only  to  all  parts  of 
the  Mediterranean,  but  to  the  most  distant  shores ! 


223  MILAN   AND   GENOA. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MILAN  AND  GENOA. A  RIDE  OVER  THE  CORNICHE  ROAD. 

Genoa,  September  20th. 

The  new  life  of  Italy  is  apparent  in  its  cities  more  than  in 
the  country.  A  change  of  government  does  not  change  the 
face  of  nature.  The  hills  that  bear  the  olive  and  the  vine, 
were  as  fresh  and  green  under  the  rule  of  Austria  as  they  are 
now  under  that  of  Victor  Emmanuel.  But  in  the  cities  and 
large  towns  I  see  a  marked  change,  both  in  the  places  them- 
selves, and  in  the  manner  and  spirit  of  the  people.  Then 
there  was  an  universal  lethargy.  Everything  was  fixed  in  a 
stagnation,  like  that  of  China.  There  was  no  improvement, 
and  no  attempt  at  any.  The  incubus  of  a  foreign  yoke 
weighed  like  lead  on  the  hearts  of  the  people.  Their  depres- 
sion showed  itself  in  their  very  countenances,  which  had  a 
hopeless  and  sullen  look.  Now  this  is  gone.  The  Austrians 
have  retired  behind  the  mountains  of  the  Tyrol,  and  Italy  at 
last  is  free  from  the  Alps  to  the  Adriatic.  The  moral  effect 
of  such  a  political  change  is  seen  in  the  rebound  from  a  state 
of  despair  to  one  of  animation  and  hope.  When  a  people  are 
free,  they  have  courage  to  attempt  works  of  improvement, 
knowing  that  what  they  do  is  not  for  the  benefit  of  foreign 
masters,  but  for  themselves  and  their  children.  Hence  the 
new  life  which  I  see  in  the  very  streets  of  Milan  and  Genoa. 
Everywhere  improvements  are  going  on.  They  are  tearing 
down  old  houses,  and  building  new  ones ;  opening  new 
streets  and  squares,  and  levelling  old  walls,  that  wide  boule- 
vards may  take  their  place.  In  Milan  I  found  them  clearing 
away  blocks  of  houses  in  front  of  the  Duomo,  to  form  an  open 


MILAN   AND    GENOA.  223 

square,  sufficient  to  give  an  ample  foreground  for  the  Cathe- 
dral. And  they  were  just  finishing  a  grand  Arcade,  with  an 
arched  roof  of  iron  and  glass,  like  the  Crystal  Palace,  beneath 
which  are  long  rows  of  shops,  as  well  as  wide  open  spaces, 
where  the  people  may  gather  in  crowds,  secure  both  from 
heat  and  cold,  protected  alike  from  the  rains  of  summer  and 
the  snows  of  winter.  The  Emperor  of  Germany,  who  is 
about  to  pay  a  visit  to  Italy,  will  find  in  Milan  a  city  not  so 
large  indeed,  but  certainly  not  less  beautiful,  than  his  own 
northern  capital. 

One  beauty  it  has  which  Berlin  can  never  have — its  Ca- 
thedral. If  I  had  not  exhausted  my  epithets  of  admiration 
on  the  Cathedrals  of  Strasburg  and  Cologne,  I  might  attempt 
a  description  of  that  of  Milan ;  but  indeed  all  words  seem 
feeble  beside  the  reality.  One  contrast  to  the  German 
Cathedrals  is  its  lighter  exterior.  It  is  built  of  marble, 
which  under  an  Italian  sky  has  preserved  its  whiteness,  and 
hence  it  has  not  the  cold  gray  of  those  Northern  Minsters 
blackened  by  time.  Nor  has  it  any  such  lofty  towers  soar- 
ing into  the  sky.  The  impression  at  first,  fherefore,  is  one 
of  beauty  rather  than  of  grandeur.  In  place  of  one  or  two 
such  towers,  standing  solitary  and  sublime,  its  buttresses 
along  the  sides  shoot  up  into  as  many  separate  pinnacles, 
surmounted  by  statues,  which,  as  they  gleam  in  the  last  rays 
of  sunset,  or  under  the  full  moon,  seem  like  angelic  sentinels 
ranged  along  the  heavenly  battlements.  These  details  of 
the  exterior  draw  away  the  eye  from  the  vastness  of  tha 
structure  as  a  whole,  which  only  bursts  upon  us  as  we  enter 
within.  There  we  recognize  its  immensity  in  the  remoteness 
of  objects.  A  man  looks  very  small  at  the  other  end  of  the 
church.  Service  may  be  going  on  at  half  a  dozen  side 
chapels  without  attracting  attention,  except  as  we  hear 
chanting  in  the  distance  ;  and  the  eye  swims  in  looking  up  at 
the  vaulted  roof.  Behind  the  choir,  three  lofty  windows  of 
rich  stained  glass  cast  a  soft  light  on  the  vast  interior.     If  I 


k224  MILAN   AND*  GENOA. 

lived  in  Milan,  I  should  haunt  that  Cathedral,  since  it  is  a 
spot  where  one  may  always  be  alone,  as  if  he  were  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest,  and  may  indulge  his  meditations  undis- 
turbed. 

But  there  is  another  church,  of  much  more  humble  pro- 
portions, which  has  a  great  historical  interest,  that  of  St. 
Ambrose,  the  author  of  the  Te  Deum,  through  which  he  has 
led  the  worship  of  all  the  generations  since  his  day,  and 
whose  majestic  anthem  "We  praise  Thee,  O  God,  we  ac- 
knowledge Thee  to  be  the  Lord,"  will  continue  to  resound  in 
the  earthly  temples  till  it  is  caught  up  by  voices  around  the 
throne.  St.  Ambrose  gave  another  immortal  gift  to  the 
Church  in  the  conversion  of  St.  Augustine,  the  greatest  of 
the  Fathers,  whose  massive  theology  has  been  the  study 
alike  of  Catholics  and  Protestants — of  Bossuet  and  Luther 
and  Calvin. 

Near  the  church  of  St.  Ambrose  one  may  still  see  the  mu- 
tilated remains  of  the  great  work  of  Leonardo  da  Yinci — the 
Last  Supper — painted,  as  everybody  knows,  on  the  walls  of 
the  refectory  of  an  old  monastery,  where  it  has  had  all  sorts 
of  bad  usage  till  it  has  been  battered  out  of  shape,  but  where 
still  Christ  sits  in  the  midst  of  His  disciples,  looking  with 
tender  and  loving  eyes  around  on  that  circle  which  He  should 
not  meet  again  till  He  had  passed  through  His  great  agony. 
The  mutilation  of  such  a  work  is  a  loss  to  the  world,  but  it 
is  partly  repaired  by  the  many  excellent  copies,  and  by  the 
admirable  engravings,  in  which  it  has  been  reproduced. 

From  Milan  to  Genoa  is  only  a  ride  of  five  hours,  and  we 
are  once  more  by  the  sea.  One  must  be  a  dull  and  emotion- 
less traveller  who  does  not  feel  a  thrill  as  he  emerges  from  a 
long  tunnel  and  sees  before  him  the  Mediterranean.  There 
it  lies — the  Mare  Magnum  of  the  ancients,  which  to  those 
who  knew  not  the  oceans  a3  we  know  them,  seemed  vast 
and  measureless ;  "  the  great  and  wide  sea,"  of  which  the 
Psalmist  wrote ;  towards   which  the    prophet   looked  from 


THE    CORNICHE    ROAD.  225 

Mount  Carmel,  till  he  descried  rising  out  of  it  a  cloud  like  a 
man's  hand ;  the  sea  *  whose  shores  are  empires,"  around 
which  the  civilization  of  the  world  has  revolved  for  thou- 
sands of  years,  passing  from  Egypt  to  Greece,  to  Rome,  to 
France  and  Spain,  but  always  lingering,  whether  on  the  side 
of  Europe  or  Africa,  somewhere  along  that  enchanted  coast. 

Here  is  Genoa — Genoa  Superba,  as  they  named  her  cen- 
turies ago — and  that  still  sits  like  a  queen  upon  the  waters, 
as  she  looks  down  so  proudly  from  her  amphitheatre  of  hills 
upon  the  bay  at  her  feet.  Genoa  with  Venice  divided  the 
maritime  supremacy  of  the  Middle  Ages,  when  her  prows 
were  seen  in  all  parts  of  the  Mediterranean.  The  glory  of 
those  days  is  departed,  but,  like  Venice,  her  prosperity  is 
reviving  under  the  influence  of  liberty.  To  Americans 
Genoa  will  always  have  a  special  interest  as  the  city  of 
Christopher  Columbus.  It  was  pleasant,  in  emerging  from 
the  station,  to  see  in  the  very  first  public  square  a  monu- 
ment worthy  of  his  great  name,  to  the  discoverer  of  the  New 
World. 

Genoa  is  a  convenient  point  from  which  to  take  an  excur- 
sion over  the  Corniche  road — one  of  the  most  famous  roads 
in  Europe,  running  along  the  Riviera,  or  the  coast  of  the 
Mediterranean,  as  far  west  as  Nice.  A  railroad  now  follows 
the  same  route,  but  as  it  passes  through  a  hundred  tunnels, 
more  or  less,  the  traveller  is  half  the  time  buried  in  the  earth. 
The  only  way  to  see  the  full  beauty  of  this  road  is  to  take  a 
carriage  and  drive  over  it,  so  as  to  get  all  the  best  points  of 
view.  The  whole  excursion  would  take  several  days.  To 
economize  our  time  we  went  by  rail  from  Genoa  to  San  Remo, 
where  the  most  picturesque  part  of  the  road  begins,  and  from 
there  took  a  basket  carriage  with  two  spirited  ponies  to  drive 
to  Nice,  a  good  day's  journey  over  the  mountains.  The  day 
was  fair,  not  too  hot  nor  too  cool.  The  morning  air  was 
exhilarating,  as  we  began  our  ride  along  the  shore,  winding 
in  and  out  of  all  the  little  bays,  sweeping  around  the  promon- 
10* 


226  THE    CORNICHE    ROAD. 

tories  that  jut  into  the  sea,  and  then  climbing  high  up  on  the 
spurs  of  the  mountains,  which  here  slope  quite  down  to  the 
coast,  from  which  they  take  the  name  of  the  Maritime  Alps. 
The  special  beauty  of  this  Eiviera  is  that  it  lies  between  the 
mountains  and  the  sea.  The  hills,  which  rise  from  the  very 
shore,  are  covered  not  with  vines  but  with  olives — a  tree 
which  with  its  pale  yellow  leaves,  somewhat  like  the  willow, 
is  not  very  attractive  to  the  eye,  especially  when,  as  now 
withered  by  the  fierce  summer's  heat,  and  covered  with  the 
summer's  dust.  There  has  been  no  rain  for  two  months,  and 
the  whole  land  is  burnt  like  a  furnace.  The  leaves  are 
scorched  as  with  the  breath  of  a  sirocco.  But  when  the 
autumn  rains  descend,  we  can  well  believe  that  all  this  barren- 
ness is  turned  into  beauty,  as  these  slopes  are  then  green, 
both  with  olive  and  with  orange  groves. 

In  the  recesses  of  the  hills  are  many  sheltered  spots,  pro- 
tected from  the  northern  winds,  and  open  to  the  southern 
sun,  which  are  the  favorite  resorts  of  invalids  for  the  winter, 
as  here  sun  and  sea  combine  to  give  a  softened  air  like  that 
of  a  perpetual  spring.  When  winter  rages  over  the  north  of 
Europe,  when  snow  covers  the  open  country,  and  even  drifts 
in  the  streets  of  great  capitals,  then  it  seems  as  if  sunshine 
and  summer  retreated  to  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean, 
and  here  lingered  among  the  orange  gardens  that  look  out 
from  the  terraced  slopes  upon  the  silver  sea.  The  warm 
south  wind  from  African  deserts  tempers  the  fierceness  of  the 
northern  blasts.  And  not  only  invalids,  but  people  of  wealth 
and  fashion,  who  have  the  command  of  all  countries  and 
climates,  and  who  have  only  to  choose  where  to  spend  the 
winter  with  least  of  discomfort  and  most  of  luxury  and  pleas- 
ure, flock  to  these  resorts.  Last  winter  the  Empress  of 
Russia  took  up  her  quarters  at  San  Remo,  to  inhale  the 
balmy  air — a  simple  luxury,  which  she  could  not  find  in  her 
palace  at  St.  Petersburg.  And  Prince  Amadeus,  sod  of  the 
king  of  Italy,  who  himself  wore  a  crown  for  a  year,  occupied 


MONTE    CARLO.  227 

a  villa  near  by,  and  found  here  a  tranquil  happiness  which  he 
could  never  find  on  the  troubled  throne  of  Spain.  A  still 
greater  resort  than  San  Renio  is  Mentone,  which  for  the 
winter  months  is  turned  into  an  English  colony,  with  a  sprink- 
ling of  Americans,  who  altogether  form  a  society  of  their 
own,  and  thus  enjoy,  along  with  this  delicious  climate,  the 
charms  of  their  English  and  American  life. 

It  is  a  pity  that  there  should  be  a  serpent  in  this  garden 
of  Paradise.  But  here  he  is — a  huge  green  monster,  twining 
among  the  flowers  and  the  orange  groves.  Midway  between 
Mentone  and  Nice  is  the  little  principality  of  Monaco,  the 
smallest  sovereignty  in  Europe,  covering  only  a  rocky  penin- 
sula that  projects  into  the  sea,  and  a  small  space  around  it. 
But  small  as  it  is,  it  is  large  enough  to  furnish  a  site  for  a 
pest  worse  than  a  Lazaretto — worse  than  the  pirates  of  the 
Barbary  coast  that  once  preyed  on  the  commerce  of  the  Med- 
iterranean— for  here  is  the  greatest  gambling  house  in  Europe. 
The  famous — or  infamous — establishments  that  so  long  flour- 
ished on  the  Rhine,  at  Homburg  and  Baden  Baden,  drawing 
hundreds  and  thousands  into  their  whirlpools  of  ruin,  have 
been  broken  up  since  the  petty  principalities  have  been  ab- 
sorbed in  the  great  German  empire.  Thus  driven  from  one 
point  to  another,  the  gamblers  have  been,  like  the  evil  spirit, 
seeking  rest  and  finding  none,  till  at  last,  by  offering  a  large 
sum — I  heard  that  it  was  four  hundred  thousand  francs 
(eighty  thousand  dollars)  a  year — to  the  Prince  of  Monaco, 
they  have  induced  him  to  sell  himself  to  the  Devil,  and  to 
allow  his  petty  State  to  become  a  den  of  thieves.  Hearing 
of  this  notorious  establishment,  I  had  a  curiosity  to  see  it, 
and  so  we  were  driven  to  Monte  Carlo,  which  is  the  pretty 
name  for  a  very  bad  place.  Surely  never  was  the  palace  of 
pleasure  decked  with  more  attractions.  The  place  has  been 
made  like  a  garden.  Extensive  grounds  have  been  laid  out, 
where  orange  trees  and  palms  are  in  full  bloom.  Winding 
walks  conduct  the  visitor  to  retired  and  shady  retreats.    The 


228  MONTE    CARLO. 

building  itself  is  of  stately  proportions,  and  one  goes  up  the 
steps  as  if  he  were  ascending  a  temple.  Within  the  broad 
vestibule  servants  in  livery  receive  the  stranger  with  studied 
politeness,  as  a  welcome  guest,  and  with  courtly  smiles  bow 
him  in.  The  vestibule  opens  into  a  large  assembly  room  for 
concerts  and  dancing,  where  one  of  the  finest  bands  in  Europe 
discourses  delicious  music.  Entrance  is  free  everywhere, 
except  into  the  gaming-room,  which  however  requires  only 
your  card  as  a  proof  of  your  respectability.  One  must  give 
his  name,  and  country,  and  profession !  See  how  careful 
the}-  are  to  have  only  the  most  select  society.  I  was  directed 
to  the  office,  where  two  secretaries,  of  sober  aspect,  who 
looked  as  if  they  might  be  retired  Methodist  clergymen,  re- 
quired my  name  and  profession.  I  felt  that  I  was  getting  on 
rather  dangerous  ground,  but  answered  by  giving  only  my 
surname  and  the  profession  of  editor,  and  received  a  card  of 
admission,  and  passed  in.  We  were  in  a  large  hall,  with 
lofty  ceiling,  and  walls  decorated  in  a  style  that  might  become 
an  apartment  in  a  royal  palace.  There  were  three  tables,  at 
two  of  which  gaming  was  going  on.  At  the  third  the  gam- 
blers sat  around  idle,  waiting  for  customers,  for  "  business  " 
is  rather  slack  just  now,  as  the  season  has  not  begun.  A  few 
weeks  later,  when  the  hotels  along  the  sea  are  filled  up,  the 
place  will  be  thronged,  and  all  these  tables  will  be  kept  going 
till  midnight.  At  the  two  where  play  was  in  progress,  we 
stood  apart  and  watched  the  scene.  There  was  a  long  table, 
covered  with  green  cloth  (I  said  it  was  a  green  monster),  over 
which  were  scattered  piles  of  gold  and  silver,  and  around 
which  were  some  twenty-five  persons,  mostly  men,  though 
there  were  two  or  three  women  (it  is  well  known  that  some 
of  the  most  infatuated  and  desperate  gamblers  at  Baden  Baden 
were  women).  The  game  was  what  is  known  as  roulette  or 
rouge  et  noir   [red  and  black].*     You  lay  down  a  piece  of 

*  Perhaps  roulette  and  rouge  et  noir  are  two  separate  games.     I 


MONTE  CARLO.  229 

ooin,  a  napoleon  or  a  sovereign,  or,  if  you  cannot  afford  that, 
a  five-franc  piece,  for  they  are  so  democratic  that  they  are 
willing  to  take  the  small  change  of  the  poor,  as  well  as  the 
hundred  or  thousand  francs  of  the  rich.  The  wager  is  that, 
when  a  horizontal  wheel  which  is  sunk  in  the  table — the  rou- 
lette— is  set  revolving,  a  little  ball  like  a  boy's  marble,  which 
is  set  whirling  in  it,  will  rest  on  the  black  or  red  spot.  Of 
course  the  thing  is  so  managed  that  the  chances  are  many  to 
one  that  you  will  lose  your  money.  But  it  looks  fair,  and  the 
greenhorn  is  easily  persuaded  that  it  is  an  even  chance,  and 
that  he  is  as  likely  to  win  as  to  lose,  until  experience  makes 
him  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man.  Of  those  about  the  table,  it 
was  quite  apparent,  even  to  my  inexperienced  eye,  that  the 
greater  part  were  professional  gamblers.  There  is  a  look 
about  them  that  is  unmistakable.  My  companion,  who  had 
looked  on  half  curious  and  half  frightened,  and  who  shrank 
up  to  my  side  (although  everything  is  kept  in  such  order, 
and  with  such  an  outward  show  of  respectability,  that  there 
is  no  danger),  remarked  the  imperturbable  coolness  of  the 
players.  The  game  proceeded  in  perfect  silence,  and  no  one 
betrayed  the  least  emotion,  whether  he  lost  or  won.  But  I 
explained  to  her  that  this  was  probably  owing  in  part  to  the 
fact  that  they  were  mostly  employes  of  the  establishment,  and 
had  no  real  stake  in  the  issue ;  but  if  they  were  noty  a  prac- 
tised gambler  never  betrays  any  emotion.  This  is  a  part  of 
his  trade.  He  schools  himself  to  it  as  an  Indian  does,  who 
scorns  to  show  suffering,  even  if  he  is  bound  at  the  stake.  I 
noticed  only  one  man  who  seemed  to  take  his  losses  to  heart. 
I  presumed  he  was  an  outsider,  and  as  he  lost  heavily,  his 
face  flushed,  but  he  said  nothing.  This  is  the  general  course 
of  the  game.  Not  a  word  is  spoken,  even  when  men  are 
losing  thousands.     Instances  have  occurred  in  which  men 

dare  say  ray  imperfect  description  would  excite  the  smile  of  a  pro- 
fessional, for  I  confess  my  total  ignorance  in  such  matters.  I  onlj 
describe  what  I  saw. 


230  MONTE    CARLO. 

gambled  away  their  last  dollar,  and  then  rose  from,  the  table 
and  blew  out  their  brains — which  interrupted  the  play  disa- 
greeably for  a  few  moments ;  but  the  body  was  removed,  the 
blood  washed  away,  and  the  game  proceeded  as  usual. 

When  we  had  watched  the  silent  spectacle  for  half  an  hour, 
we  felt  that  we  had  quite  enough,  and  after  strolling  through 
the  grounds  and  listening  to  the  music,  returned  to  our  car 
riage  and  drove  off,  moralizing  on  the  strange  scene  we  had 
witnessed. 

Did  I  regret  that  I  had  been  to  see  this  glittering  form  of 
temptation  and  sin  ?  On  the  contrary,  I  wished  that  every 
pastor  in  New  York  could  have  stood  there  and  looked  on 
at  that  scene.  We  have  had  quite  enough  of  firing  at  all 
kinds  of  wickedness  at  long  range.  It  is  time  to  move  our 
batteries  up  a  little  nearer,  and  engage  the  enemy  at  close 
quarters.  If  those  pastors  had  seen  what  we  saw  in  that  half 
hour,  they  would  realize,  as  they  cannot  now,  the  dangers  to 
which  young  men  are  exposed  in  our  cities.  They  would  see 
with  their  own  eyes  how  broad  is  the  road,  and  how  alluring 
it  is  made,  that  leads  to  destruction,  and  how  many  there  be 
that  go  in  thereat.  I  look  upon  Monte  Carlo  as  the  very 
mouth  of  the  pit,  covered  up  with  flowers,  so  that  giddy 
creatures  dance  along  its  perilous  edge  till  it  crumbles  under 
their  feet.  Thousands  who  come  here  with  no  intention  of 
gambling,  put  down  a  small  sum  "just  to  try  their  luck," 
and  find  that  u  a  fool  and  his  money  are  soon  parted." 
Many  do  not  end  with  losing  a  few  francs,  or  even  a  few 
sovereigns.  It  is  well  if  they  do  not  leave  behind  them  what 
they  can  ill  afford  to  lose.  Yery  many  young  men  leave 
what  is  not  their  own.  That  such  a  place  of  temptation 
should  be  allowed  to  exist  here  in  this  lovely  spot  on  the 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  is  a  disgrace  to  Monaco,  and  to 
the  powers  on  both  sides  of  it,  France  and  Italy,  which,  if 
they  have  no  legal  right  to  interfere,  might  by  a  vigorous 
protest  put  an  end  to  the  accursed  thing.     Probably  it  will 


MONTE    CAKLO.  231 

after  awhile  provoke  its  own  destruction.  I  should  be  glad 
to  see  the  foul  nest  of  gamblers  that  have  congregated  here, 
broken  up,  and  the  wretches  sent  to  the  galleys  as  convicts, 
or  forced  in  some  way  to  earn  an  honest  living. 

But  is  not  this  vice  of  gambling  very  wide-spread  ?  Does 
it  not  exist  in  more  forms  than  one,  and  in  more  countries 
than  the  little  State  of  Monaco  ?  I  am  afraid  the  vice  lies 
deep  in  human  nature,  and  may  be  found  in  some  shape  in 
every  part  of  the  world.  Is  there  not  a  great  deal  of  gam- 
bling in  Wall  street  ?  When  men  bet  on  the  rise  and  fall  of 
stocks,  when  they  sell  what  they  do  not  possess,  or  buy  that 
for  which  they  have  no  money  to  pay,  do  they  not  risk  their 
gains  or  losses  on  a  chance,  as  much  as  those  who  stake 
thousands  on  the  turning  of  a  wheel,  on  a  card  or  a  die  ? 
It  is  the  old  sin  of  trying  to  get  the  fruits  of  labor  without 
labor,  to  get  something  for  nothing,  that  is  the  curse  of  all 
modern  cities  and  countries,  that  demoralizes  young  men  in 
New  York  and  San  Francisco,  as  well  as  in  Paris  and  Lon- 
don. The  great  lesson  which  we  all  need  to  learn,  is  the 
duty  and  the  dignity  of  labor.  When  a  man  never  claims 
anything  which  he  does  not  work  for,  then  he  may  feel  an 
honest  pride  in  his  gains,  and  may  slowly  grow  in  fortune 
without  losing  the  esteem  of  the  good,  or  his  own  manly  self- 
rospect. 

Leaving  this  gorgeous  den  of  thieves  behind  us,  we  haste 
away  to  the  mountains ;  for  while  the  railroad  seeks  its 
level  path  along  the  very  shore  of  the  sea,  the  Corniche  road, 
built  before  railroads  were  thought  of,  finds  its  only  passage 
over  stupendous  heights.  We  have  now  to  climb  a  spur  of 
the  Alps,  which  here  pushes  its  great  shoulder  close  to  the 
sea.  It  is  a  toilsome  path  for  our  little  ponies,  but  they  pull 
up  bravely,  height  after  height.  Every  one  we  mount,  we  hope 
to  find  the  summit ;  but  we  keep  going  on  and  on,  and  up  and 
up,  till  it  seems  like  a  Jacob's  Ladder,  which  reaches  to 
Heaven.     When  on  one  of  the  highest  points,  we  look  right 


232  nice. 

down,  into  Monte  Carlo  as  into  the  crater  of  a  volcano.  It 
does  not  burn  or  smoke,  but  it  has  an  open  mouth,  and  many 
there  be  that  there  go  down,  quick  into  hell. 

We  are  at  last  on  the  top,  and  pass  on  from  one  peak  to 
another,  all  the  time  enjoying  a  wide  outlook  over  the  blue 
Mediterranean,  which  lies  calmly  at  the  foot  of  these  great 
mountains,  with  only  a  white  sail  here  and  there  dotting  the 
mighty  waters. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  we  came  in  sight  of  Nice,  gleam- 
ing in  the  distance  on  the  sea-shore.  We  had  been  riding  all 
day,  and  our  driver,  a  bright  young  Savoyard,  seemed  eager 
to  have  the  long  journey  over,  and  so  he  put  his  ponies  to 
their  speed,  and  we  came  down  the  mountain  as  if  shot  out 
of  a  gun,  and  rattled  through  the  streets  of  Nice  at  such  a 
break-neck  pace,  that  the  police  shouted  after  us,  lest  we 
should  run  over  somebody.  But  there  was  no  stopping  our 
little  Jehu,  and  on  we  went  at  full  speed,  till  suddenly  he 
reined  us  up  with  a  jerk  before  the  hotel. 

In  the  old  days  when  I  first  travelled  in  the  south  of 
Europe,  Nice  was  an  Italian  town.  It  belonged  to  the 
small  kingdom  of  Sardinia.  But  in  1860,  as  a  return 
for  the  help  of  Napoleon  in  the  campaign  of  1859  against 
Austria,  by  which  Victor  Emmanuel  gained  Lombardy,  it 
was  ceded  with  Savoy  to  France,  and  now  is  a  French 
city.  I  think  it  has  prospered  by  the  change.  It  has  grown 
very  much,  until  it  has  some  fifty  thousand  inhabitants.  Its 
principal  attraction  is  as  a  winter  resort  for  English  and 
Americans.  There  are  a  number  of  Protestant  churches, 
French  and  English.  The  French  Evangelical  church  has 
for  its  pastor  Bev.  Leon  Pilatte,  who  is  well  known  in 
America. 

It  was  now  Saturday  night,  and  the  Sabbath  drew  on. 
Never  was  its  rest  more  grateful,  and  never  did  it  find  us  in 
a  more  restful  spot.  Everybody  comes  here  for  repose,  to 
find  rest  and  healing.     The  place  is  perhaps  a  little  saddened 


nice.  253 

by  the  presence  of  so  many  invalids,  some  of  whom  come 
here  only  to  die.  In  yonder  hotel  on  the  shore,  the 
heir  of  the  throne  of  all  the  Russias  breathed  his  last  a 
few  winters  ago.  These  clear  skies  and  this  soft  air  could 
not  save  him,  even  when  aided  by  all  the  medical  skill  of 
Europe.  I  should  not  have  great  faith  in  the  restoring 
power  of  this  or  of  any  climate  for  one  far  gone  in  consump- 
tion. But  certainly  as  a  place  of  rest,  if  it  is  permitted  to 
man  to  find  rest  anywhere  on  earth,  it  must  be  here,  with 
the  blue  skies  above,  and  the  soft  flowery  earth  below,  and 
with  no  sound  to  disturb,  but  only  the  murmur  of  the  moan- 
ing, melancholy  sea. 

But  a  traveller  is  not  allowed  to  rest.  He  comes  not  to 
stay,  but  only  to  see — to  look,  and  then  to  disappear ;  and 
so,  after  a  short  two  days  in  Nice,  we  took  a  quick  return  by 
night,  and  in  eight  hours  found  ourselves  again  in  Genoa. 


234  IN  THE  VALE  OF  THE  ARNO. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IN    THE   VALE    OF   THE    ARNO. 

Flobknoe,  September  27th. 

We  are  getting  more  into  the  heart  of  Italy  as  we  come 
farther  south.  In  the  old  Roman  days  the  country  watered 
by  the  Po  was  not  a  part  of  Italy ;  it  was  Cisalpine  Gaul. 
This  we  leave  behind  as  we  turn  southward  from  Genoa. 
The  road  runs  along  the  shore  of  the  Mediterranean ;  it  is  a 
continuation  of  the  Riviera  as  far  as  Spezzia,  where  we  leave 
the  sea  and  strike  inland  to  Pisa,  oue  of  the  Mediaeval  cities, 
which  in  its  best  days  was  a  rival  of  Genoa,  and  which  has 
still  some  memorials  of  its  former  grandeur.  Here  we  spent 
a  night,  and  the  next  morning  visited  the  famous  Leaning 
Tower,  and  the  Cathedral  and  Baptistery,  and  the  Campo 
Santo  (filled  with  earth  brought  from  Jerusalem  in  fifty- three 
ships,  that  the  faithful  might  be  buried  in  holy  ground),  and 
then  pursued  our  way  along  the  Valley  of  the  Arno  to 
Florence. 

And  now  the  inspiration  of  the  country,  the  genius  loci, 
comes  upon  us  more  and  more.  We  are  in  Tuscany,  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  portions  of  the  whole  peninsula.  We  are 
favored  by  the  season  of  the  year.  Before  we  came  abroad  I 
consulted  some  of  my  travelled  friends  as  to  the  best  time  of 
the  year  to  visit  Italy.  Most  tourists  come  here  in  the 
winter,  Rome  especially  is  not  thought  to  be  safe  till  late 
in  the  autumn.  But  Dr.  Bellows  told  me  that,  so  far  from 
waiting  for  cold  weather,  he  thought  Italy  could  be  seen  in 
its  full  beauty  only  in  an  earlier  month,  when  the  country 
was  still  clothed  with  vegetation.     Certainly  it  is  better  to  see 


IN  THE  VALE  OF  THE  ARNO.  235 

it  in  its  summer  bloom,  or  in  the  ripeness  of  autumn,  than 
when  the  land  is  stripped,  when  the  mountains  are  bleak  and 
bare,  when  there  is  not  a  leaf  on  the  vine  or  the  fig-tree,  and 
only  naked  branches  shiver  in  the  wintry  wind.  We  have  come 
at  a  season  when  the  earth  has  still  its  glory  on.  The  vine- 
yards are  full  of  the  riches  of  the  year ;  the  peasants  are  now 
gathering  the  grapes,  and  we  have  witnessed  that  most  pic- 
turesque Italian  scene,  the  vintage.  Dark  forests  clothe  the 
slopes  of  the  Apennines.  At  this  season  there  is  a  soft,  hazy 
atmosphere,  like  that  of  our  Indian  summer,  which  gives  a 
kind  of  purple  tint  to  the  Italian  landscapes.  The  skies  are 
fair,  but  not  more  fair  than  that  heaven  of  blue  which  bends 
over  many  a  beloved  spot  in  America.  Nor  is  the  vegetation 
richer,  nor  are  the  landscapes  more  lovely,  than  in  our  own 
dear  vales  of  Berkshire.  Even  the  Arno  at  this  season,  like 
most  of  the  other  rivers  of  Italy,  is  a  dried  up  bed  with  only 
a  rivulet  of  muddy  water  running  through  it.  Later  in  the 
autumn,  when  the  rains  descend ;  or  in  tbft  spring,  when  the 
snows  melt  upon  the  mountains,  it  is  swollen  to  such  a  height 
that  it  often  overflows  its  banks,  and  the  full  stream  rushes 
like  a  torrent.  But  at  present  the  mighty  Arno,  of  which 
poets  have  sung  so  much,  is  not  so  large  as  the  Housatonic, 
nor  half  so  beautiful  as  that  silver  stream,  on  whose  banks  the 
meadows  are  always  fresh  and  green,  and  where  the  waters 
are  pure  and  sparkling  that  ripple  over  its  pebbled  bed. 

But  the  position  of  Florence  is  certainly  one  of  infinito 
beauty,  lying  in  a  valley,  surrounded  by  mountains.  The 
approach  to  it  by  a  railroad,  when  one  gets  his  first  view 
from  a  level,  is  much  less  picturesque  than  in  the  old  days 
when  we  travelled  by  vettura,  and  came  to  it  over  the  Apen- 
nines, and  after  a  long  day's  journey  reached  the  top  of  a 
distant  hill,  from  which  we  saw  Florence  afar  off,  sitting 
like  a  queen  in  the  Valley  of  the  Arno,  the  setting  sun 
reflected  from  the  Duomo  and  the  Campanile,  and  from  all 
its  domes  and  towers. 


236  IN  THE  VALE  OF  THE  ARNO. 

In  this  Yalley  of  Paradise  we  have  spent  a  week,  visiting 
the  galleries  of  pictures,  and  making  excursions  to  Fiesole 
and  other  points  of  view  on  the  surrounding  hills,  from 
which  to  look  down  on  as  fair  a  scene  as  ever  smiled  beneath 
an  Italian  sun. 

Florence  is  in  many  respects  the  most  attractive  place  in 
Italy,  as  it  unites  the  charms  of  art  with  those  of  modern 
life ;  as  it  exists  not  only  in  the  dead  past,  but  in  the  living 
present.  It  is  a  large,  thriving,  prosperous  city,  and  has 
become  a  great  resort  of  English  and  Americans,  who  gather 
here  in  the  winter  months,  and  form  a  most  agreeable  so- 
ciety. There  are  a  number  of  American  sculptors  and  paint- 
ers, whose  works  are  well  known  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic.  Some  of  their  studios  we  visited,  and  saw  abun- 
dant evidence,  that  with  all  our  intensely  practical  life,  the 
elements  of  taste  and  beauty,  and  of  a  genius  for  art,  are  not 
wanting  in  our  countrymen. 

Florence  has  ha*d  a  material  growth  within  a  few  years, 
from  being  for  a  time  the  capital  of  the  new  kingdom  of 
Italy.  When  Tuscany  was  added  to  Sardinia,  the  capital 
was  removed  from  Turin  to  Florence  as  a  more  central  city, 
and  the  presence  of  the  Court  and  the  Parliament  gave  a  new 
life  to  its  streets.  Now  the  Court  is  removed  to  Rome,  but 
the  impulse  still  remains,  and  in  the  large  squares  which 
have  been  opened,  and  the  new  buildings  which  are  going 
up,  one  sees  the  signs  of  life  and  progress.  To  be  sure,  there 
is  not  only  growing  but  groaning,  for  the  taxes  are  fearfully 
high  here,  as  everywhere  in  Italy.  The  country  is  bearing 
burdens  as  heavy  as  if  it  were  in  a  state  of  war.  If  only 
Italy  were  the  first  country  in  Europe  to  reduce  her  arma- 
ments, she  could  soon  lighten  the  load  upon  her  people. 

But  leaving  aside  all  political  and  financial  questions, 
one  may  be  permitted  to  enjoy  this  delightful  old  city, 
with  its  treasures  of  art,  and  its  rich  historical  memories. 
Florence  has  lately  been  revelling  in  its  glories  of  old  days 


IN   THE   VALE    OF   THE   AliNO.  237 

in  a  celebration  of  the  four  hundredth  anniversary  of  the 
birth  of  Michael  Angel o — as  a  few  years  since  it  celebrated 
the  side  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  birth  of  Dante.  Surely 
few  men  in  history  better  deserve  to  be  remembered  than 
Michael  Angelo,  whose  rugged  face  looks  more  like  that 
of  a  hard-headed  old  Scotchman,  than  of  one  who  belonged 
to  the  handsome  Italian  race.  And  yet  that  brain  was  full 
of  beautiful  creations,  and  in  his  life  of  eighty-nine  years 
he  produced  enough  to  leave,  not  only  to  Florence,  but  to 
Rome,  many  monuments  of  his  genius.  He  was  great  in 
several  forms  of  art — as  painter,  sculptor,  and  architect — 
and  even  had  some  pretension  to  be  a  poet.  He  was  the 
sculptor  of  David  and  Moses ;  the  painter  of  the  Last  Judg- 
ment and  the  frescoes  of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  the  archi- 
tect who  built  St.  Peter's.  And  his  character  was  equal  to 
his  genius.  He  was  both  religious  and  patriotic,  nob  only 
building  churches,  but  the  fortifications  that  defended 
Florence  against  her  enemies.  Such  was  Michael  Angelo — 
a  simple,  grand  old  man,  whose  name  is  worthy  to  live  with 
the  heroes  of  antiquity. 

We  were  too  late  to  enjoy  the  fetes  that  were  given  at  this 
anniversary,  and  were  only  able  to  be  present  at  the  perform- 
ance of  Verdi's  Requiem,  which  concluded  the  whole.  This 
sublime  composition  was  written  for  the  great  Italian  author 
Manzoni,  and  to  be  sung  in  the  Cathedral  of  Milan,  whose 
solemn  aisles  were  in  harmony  with  its  mournful  and  majes- 
tic strains.  Now  it  would  have  seemed  more  fitting  in  the 
Duomo  of  Florence  than  in  a  theatre,  though  perhaps  the 
latter  was  better  constructed  for  an  orchestra  and  an  audi- 
ence. The  performance  of  the  Requiem  was  to  be  the  great 
musical  event  of  the  year ;  we  had  heard  the  fame  of  it  at 
Milan  and  at  Yenice,  and  having  seen  what  Italy  could  show  in 
one  form  of  art,  we  were  now  able  to  appreciate  it  in  another. 
Months  had  been  spent  in  preparation.  Distinguished  sing- 
ers were  to  lead  in  the  principal  parts,  while  hundreds  wore 


238  IN  THE  VALE  OP  THE  ARNO. 

to  join  their  voices  in  the  tremendous  chorus.  On  the  night 
that  we  witnessed  the  representation,  the  largest  theatre  in 
Florence  was  crowded  from  pit  to  dome,  although  the  price 
of  admission  was  very  high.  In  the  vast  assembly  was  com- 
prised what  was  most  distinguished  in  Florence,  with  repre- 
sentatives from  other  cities  of  Italy,  and  many  from  other 
countries.  The  performance  occupied  over  two  hours.  It 
began  with  soft,  wailing  melodies,  such  as  might  be  composed 
to  soothe  a  departing  soul,  or  to  express  the  wish  of  survivors 
that  it  might  enter  into  its  everlasting  rest.  Then  succeeded 
the  Dies  Ir^e — the  old  Latin  hymn,  which  for  centuries  has 
sounded  forth  its  accents  of  warning  and  of  woe.  Those 
who  are  familiar  with  this  sublime  composition  will  remember 
the  terrific  imagery  with  which  the  terrors  of  the  Judgment 
are  presented,  and  can  imagine  the  effect  of  such  a  hymn  ren- 
dered with  all  the  power  of  music.  We  had  first  a  quiet, 
lulling  strain — almost  like  silence,  which  was  the  calm  before 
the  storm.  Then  a  sound  was  heard,  but  low,  as  of  something 
afar  off,  distant  and  yet  approaching.  Nearer  and  nearer  it 
drew,  swelling  every  instant,  till  it  seemed  as  if  the  trum- 
pets that  should  wake  the  dead  were  stirring  the  alarmed  air. 
At  last  came  a  crash  as  if  a  thunder  peal  had  burst  in  the 
building.  This  terrific  exjjlosion,  of  course,  was  soon  relieved 
by  softer  sounds.  There  were  many  and  sudden  transitions, 
one  part  being  given  by  a  single  powerful  voice,  or  by  two  or 
three,  or  four,  and  then  the  mighty  chorus  responding 
with  a  sound  like  that  of  many  waters.  After  the  Dies  Irai 
followed  a  succession  of  more  gentle  strains,  which  spoke  of 
Pardon  and  Peace.  The  Agnus  Dei  and  other  similar  pai  ts 
were  given  with  a  tenderness  that  was  quite  overpowering. 
Those  who  have  heard  the  Oratorio  of  the  Messiah,  and 
remember  the  melting  sweetness  of  such  passages  as  "He 
leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters,"  and  "  I  know  that  my 
Redeemer  liveth,"  can  form  an  idea  of  the  marvellous  effect. 
I  am  but  an  indifferent  judge  of  music,  but  I  could  not  but 


IN   THE    VALE    OF   THE   ARNO.  239 

observe  how  much  grander  such  a  hymn  as  the  Dies  Irai 
sounds  in  the  original  Latin  than  in  any  English  version. 
Eternal  rest  are  sweet  words  in  English,  but  in  music 
tliey  can  never  be  rendered  with  the  effect  of  the  Latin 
requiem  sempiternam,  on  which  the  voices  of  the  most  pow- 
erful singers  lingered  and  finally  died  away,  as  if  bidding 
farewell  to  a  soul  that  was  soaring  to  the  very  presence  of 
God.  This  Requiem  was  a  fitting  close  to  the  public  celebra- 
tions by  which  Florence  did  honor  to  the  memory  of  her 
illustrious  dead. 

Michael  Angelo  is  buried  in  the  church  of  Santa  Croce, 
and  near  his  tomb  is  that  of  another  illustrious  Florentine, 
whose  name  belongs  to  the  world,  and  to  the  heavens — "  the 
starry  Galileo."  We  have  sought  out  the  spots  associated 
with  his  memory — the  house  where  he  lived  and  the  room 
where  he  died.  The  tower  from  which  he  made  his  observa- 
tions is  on  an  elevation  which  commands  a  wide  horizon. 
There  with  his  little  telescope — a  very  slender  tube  and  very 
small  glass,  compared  with  the  splendid  instruments  in  our 
modern  observatories — he  watched  the  constellations,  as  they 
rose  over  the  crest  of  the  Apennines,  and  followed  their  shin- 
ing path  all  night  long.  There  he  observed  the  mountains  in 
the  moon,  and  the  satellites  of  Jupiter.  What  a  commen- 
tary on  the  intelligence  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  that 
such  a  man  should  be  dragged  before  the  Inquisition— before 
ignorant  priests  who  were  not  worthy  to  untie  his  shoes — 
and  required,  under  severe  penalties,  to  renounce  the  doc- 
trine of  the  revolution  of  the  globe.  The  old  man  yielded 
in  a  moment  of  weakness,  to  escape  imprisonment  or  death, 
but  as  he  rose  from  his  knees,  his  spirit  returned  to  him,  and 
he  exclaimed  "  But  still  it  moves  !  "  A  good  motto  for  re- 
formers of  all  ages.  Popes  and  inquisitors  may  try  to  stop 
the  revolution  of  the  earth,  but  still  it  moves ! 

There  is  another  name  in  the  history  of  Florence,  which 
recalls  the  persecutions  of  Rome— that  of  Savonarola.     No 


240  IN  THE  VALE  OF  THE  ARNO. 

spot  was  more  sacred  to  me  than  the  cell  in  the  Monastery, 
where  be  passed  so  many  years,  and  from  which  he  issued, 
crucifix  in  hand  (the  same  that  is  still  kept  there  as  a  holy 
relic),  to  make  those  fiery  appeals  in  the  streets  of  Florence, 
svhich  so  stirred  the  hearts  of  the  people,  and  led  at  last  to 
his  trial  and  death.  A  rude  picture  that  is  hung  on  the 
wall  represents  the  final  scene.  It  is  in  the  public  square, 
in  front  of  the  Old  Palace,  where  a  stage  is  erected,  and 
monks  are  conducting  Savonarola  and  two  others  who  suf- 
fered with  him,  to  the  spot  where  the  flames  are  kindled. 
Here  he  was  burnt,  and  his  ashes  thrown  into  the  Arno. 
But  how  impotent  the  rage  that  thought  thus  to  stifle  such  a 
voice !  His  words,  like  his  ashes,  have  gone  into  the  air, 
and  the  winds  take  them  up  and  carry  them  round  the  world. 
Henceforth  his  name  belongs  to  history,  and  in  the  ages  to 
come  will  be  whispered  by 

' '  Those  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names, 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses." 

It  is  a  proof  of  the  decline  of  Italy  under  the  oppression 
of  a  foreign  yoke — of  the  paralysis  of  her  intellectual  as 
well  as  her  political  life — that  she  has  produced  no  name  to 
equal  these  in  four  hundred  years.  For  though  Byron  eulo- 
gizes so  highly,  and  perhaps  justly,  Alfieri  and  Canova,  it 
would  be  an  extravagant  estimate  which  should  assign  them 
a  place  in  the  Pantheon  of  History  beside  the  immortals  of 
Ihe  Middle  Ages. 

And  yet  Italy  has  not  been  wholly  deserted  of  genius  or 
of  glory  in  these  later  ages.  In  the  darkest  times  she  has 
had  some  great  writers,  as  well  as  painters  and  sculptors, 
and  in  the  very  enthusiasm  with  which  she  now  recalls  in  her 
celebrations  the  names  of  Dante  and  Michael  Angelo,  we 
recognize  a  spirit  of  life,  an  admiration  for  greatness,  which 
may  produce  in  the  future  those  who  may  rank  as  their 
worthy  successors. 


IN  THE  VALE  OF  THE  ARNO.  241 

"Within  a  few  years  Florence  has  become  such  a  resort  of 
strangers  that  some  of  its  most  interesting  associations  are 
with  its  foreign  residents.  In  the  English  burying  ground 
many  of  that  country  sleep  far  from  their  native  island. 
Some,  like  Walter  Savage  Landor  and  Mrs.  Browning,  had 
made  Florence  their  home  for  years.  Italy  was  their  adopted 
country,  and  it  is  fit  that  they  sleep  in  its  sunny  clime,  be- 
neath a  southern  sky.  So  of  our  countryman  Powers,  who 
was  a  resident  of  Florence  for  thirty-five  years,  and  whose 
widow  still  lives  here  in  the  very  pretty  villa  which  he  built, 
with  her  sons  and  daughter  married  and  settled  around  her, 
a  beautiful  domestic  group.  In  the  cemetery  I  sought  an- 
other grave  of  one  known  to  all  Americans.  On  a  plaia 
stone  of  granite  is  inscribed  simply  the  name 

THEODORE  PARKER, 

Born  at  Lexington,  Massachusetts, 

In  the  United  States  of  America, 

August  24th,  1810. 

Died  in  Florence 

May  10th,  18G0. 

One  could  preach  a  sermon  over  that  grave,  for  in  that 
form  which  is  now  but  dust,  was  one  of  the  most  vigorous 
minds  of  our  day,  a  man  of  prodigious  force,  an  omnivorous 
reader,  and  a  writer  and  lecturer  on  a  great  variety  of  sub- 
jects, who  in  his  manifold  forms  of  activity,  did  as  much  to 
influence  the  minds  of  his  countrymen  as  any  man  of  his 
time.  He  struck  fierce  blows,  right  and  left,  often  doing 
more  ill  than  good  by  his  crude  religious  opinions,  which  he 
put  forth  as  boldly  as  if  they  were  the  accepted  faith  of  all 
mankind ;  but  in  his  battle  for  Liberty  rendering  services 
which  the  American  people  will  not  willingly  let  die. 

Mrs.  Browning's  epitaph  is  still  briefer.  There  is  a 
longer  inscription  on  a  tablet  in  the  front  of  the  house  which 
was  her  home  for  so  many  years,  placed  there  by  the  muni- 
11 


242  IN  THE  VALE  OF  THE  ARNO. 

cipal  government  of  Florence.  There,  as  one  looks  up  to 
those  Casa  Guidi  Windows,  which  she  has  given  as  a  name 
to  a  volume  of  her  poems,  he  may  read  that  "  In  this  house 
lived  and  died  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning,  who  by  her 
genius  and  her  poetry  made  a  golden  link  betw*een  England 
and  Italy."  But  on  her  tomb,  which  is  of  pure  white  marble, 
is  only 

E.  B.  B.     Ob.  1861. 

But  what  need  of  more  words  to  perpetuate  a  name  that 
is  on  the  lips  of  millions ;  or  to  speak  of  one  who  speaks  for 
herself  in  the  poetry  she  has  made  for  nations ;  whose  very 
voice  thus  lives  in  the  air,  like  a  strain  of  music,  and  goes 
floating  down  the  ages,  singing  itself  to  immortality  ? 


OLD  ROME  AND  NEW  ROME.  243 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

OLD   ROME   AND     NEW  ROME. RUINS   AND   RESURRECTION. 

Rome,  October  8th. 

At  last  we  are  in  Rome  !  We  reached  here  a  week  ago, 
on  what  was  to  me  a  very  sad  anniversary,  as  on  the  first  of 
October  of  last  year  I  came  from  the  country,  bringing  one 
who  was  never  to  return.  Now,  as  then,  the  day  was  sadly 
beautiful — rich  with  the  hues  of  autumn,  when  nature  is 
gently  dying,  a  day  suited  to  quiet  thoughts  and  tender  mem- 
ories. It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  found  ourselves 
racing  along  the  banks  of  the  Tiber — "  the  yellow  Tiber  "  it 
was  indeed,  as  its  waters  were  turbid  enough — and  just  as 
the  sun  was  setting  we  shot  across  the  Campagna,  and  when 
the  lamps  were  lighted  were  rattling  through  the  streets  of 
the  Eternal  City. 

To  a  stranger  coming  here  there  is  a  double  interest ;  for 
there  are  two  cities  to  be  studied — old  Rome  and  new  Rome 
— the  Rome  of  Julius  Caesar,  and  the  Rome  of  Pius  IX.  and 
Victor  Emmanuel.  In  point  of  historical  interest  there  is  no 
comparison,  as  the  glory  of  the  ancient  far  surpasses  that  of 
the  modern  city.  And  it  is  the  former  which  first  engages 
our  attention. 

How  strange  it  seemed  to  awake  in  the  morning  and  feel 
that  we  were  really  in  the  city  that  once  ruled  the  world ! 
Yes,  we  are  on  the  very  spot.  Around  us  are  the  Seven 
Hills.  We  go  to  the  top  of  the  Capitol  and  count  them  all. 
We  look  down  to  the  river  bank  where  Romulus  and  Remus 
were  cast  ashore,  like  Moses  in  the  bulrushes,  left  to  die,  and 
where,  according  to  the  old   legend,  they  were  suckled  by  a 


244  OLD  ROME  AND  NEW  ROME. 

wolf ;  and  where  Romulus,  when  grown  to  man's  estate,  began 
to  build  a  city.  Antiquarians  still  trace  the  line  of  his  ancient 
wall.  On  the  Capitol  Hill  is  the  Tarpeian  Rock,  from  which 
traitors  were  hurled.  And  under  the  hill,  buried  in  the 
earth,  one  still  sees  the  massive  arch  of  the  Cloaca  Maxima, 
the  great  sewer,  built  by  the  Tarquins,  through  which  all  the 
waste  of  Rome  has  flowed  into  the  Tiber  for  twenty-five  hun- 
dred years  ;  and  there  are  the  pillars  of  the  ancient  bridge — 
so  they  tell  us — held  by  a  hero  who  must  have  been  a  Her- 
cules, of  whom  and  his  deed  Macaulay  writes  in  his  "  Lays  of 
Ancient  Rome"  how,  long  after,  in  the  traditions  of  tho 
people, 

11  Still  was  the  story  told, 
How  well  Horatius  kept  the  bridge, 
In  the  brave  days  of  old. " 

Looking  around  the  horizon  every  summit  recalls  historical 
memories.  There  are  the  Sabine  Hills,  where  lived  the  tribe 
from  which  the  early  Romans  (who  were  at  first,  like  some  of 
our  border  settlements,  wholly  a  community  of  men,)  helped 
themselves  to  wives.  Yonder,  to  the  south,  are  the  Alban 
Hills ;  and  there,  in  what  seems  the  hollow  of  a  mountain, 
Hannibal  encamped  with  his  army,  looking  down  upon  Rome. 
In  the  same  direction  lies  the  Appian  Way,  lined  for  miles 
with  tombs  of  the  illustrious  dead.  Along  that  way  often 
came  the  legions  returning  from  distant  conquests,  "bringing 
many  captives  home  to  Rome,"  with  camels  and  elephants 
bearing  the  spoils  of  Africa  and  the  East. 

These  recollections  increase  in  interest  as  we  come  down  to 
the  time  of  the  Csesars.  This  is  the  culminating  point  of 
Roman  history,  as  then  the  empire  reached  its  highest  point 
of  power  and  glory.  Julius  Caesar  is  the  greatest  character 
of  ancient  Rome,  as  soldier  and  ruler,  the  leader  of  armies, 
and  the  man  whose  very  presence  awed  the  Roman  Senate. 
Such  was  the  magic  of  his  name  that  it  was  said  peculiar 


OLD  HOME  AND  NEW  HOME.  245 

omens  and  portents  accompanied  his  death.  As  Sh&kespeare 
has  it : 

"  In  the  most  high  and  palmy  state  of  Rome, 
A  little  ere  the  mighty  Julius  fell, 
The  graves  stood  tenantless,  and  the  sheeted  dead 
Did  squeak  and  gibber  in  the  Roman  streets. " 

It  was  therefore  with  an  interest  that  no  other  name  could 
inspire,  that  we  saw  in  the  Capitol  a  statue,  which  is  said  to 
be  the  most  faithful  existing  representation  of  that  imperial 
man ;  and  in  the  Strada  Palace  the  statue  of  Pompey,  which 
is  believed  to  be  the  very  one  at  the  base  of  which  "  great 
Caesar  fell."  * 

With  Caesar  ended  the  ancient  Republic,  and  began  the 
Empire.  It  was  then  that  Home  attained  her  widest  domin- 
ion, and  the  city  its  greatest  splendor.  She  was  the  mistress 
of  the  whole  world,  from  Egypt  to  Britain,  ruling  on  all  sides 
of  the  Mediterranean,  along  the  shores  of  Europe,  Asia, 
and  Africa.  And  then  the  whole  earth  contributed  to  the 
magnificence  of  the  Eternal  City.  It  was  the  boast  of 
Augustus,  that  "  he  found  Rome  of  brick,  and  left  it  of 
marble."  Under  him  and  his  successors  were  reared  thoso 
palaces  and  temples,  the  very  ruins  of  which  are  still  the 
wonder  and  admiration  of  the  world. 

The  knowledge  of  these  ruins  has  been  greatly  increased  by 
recent  excavations.  Till  within  a  few  years  Rome  was  a 
buried  city,  almost  as  much  as  Pompeii.  The  debris  of 
centuries  had  filled  up  her  streets  and  squares,  till  the  earth 
lay  more  than  twenty  feet  deep  in  the  Forum,  choking  up 
temples  and  triumphal  arches  ;  and  even  the  lower  part  of  the 
Coliseum  had  been  submerged  in  the  general  wreck  and  ruin. 
In  every  part  of  the  city  could  be  seen  the  upper  portions  of 
buildings,  the  frieze  on  the  capitals  of  columns,  that  were 

*"  E'en  at  the  base  of  Pompey 's  statue, 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Cassariell." 


246  OLD  ROME  AND  NEW  KOME. 

half  under  ground,  and  that,  like  Milton's  lion,  seemed  paw- 
ing to  be  free. 

But  the  work  of  clearing  away  this  rubbish  was  so  vast 
that  it  had  been  neglected  from  century  to  century.  But 
during  the  occupation  by  the  French  troops,  that  Govern- 
ment expended  large  sums  in  uncovering  these  rums,  and 
the  work  has  since  been  continued  by  Victor  Emmanuel,  until 
now,  as  the  result  of  twenty  years  continuous  labor,  a  buried 
city  has  been  brought  to  light.  The  Forum  has  been  cleared 
away,  so  that  we  may  walk  on  its  pavement,  amid  its  broken 
columns,  and  see  the  very  tribune  from  which  Cicero  ad- 
dressed the  Roman  people.  But  beside  this  Central  Forum, 
there  were  half  a  dozen  others — such  as  the  Forum  of  Julius 
Caesar,  and  of  Augustus,  and  of  JSTerva,  and  of  Trajan, 
where  still  stands  that  marvellous  Column  in  bronze 
(covered  with  figures  in  bas-relief,  to  represent  the  conquest 
of  the  Dacians),  which  has  been  copied  in  the  Column  of  the 
Place  Vendome  in  Paris.  All  of  these  Forums  were  parts 
of  one  whole.  What  is  now  covered  by  streets  and  houses, 
was  an  open  space,  extending  from  the  Capitol  as  far  as  the 
Coliseum. in  one  direction,  and  the  Column  of  Trajan  in  an- 
other, surrounded  by  temples  and  basilicas,  and  columns  and 
triumphal  arches,  and  overlooked  by  the  palaces  of  the 
Caesars.  This  whole  area  was  the  centre  of  Borne,  where 
its  heart  beat,  when  it  contained  two  millions  of  people ; 
where  the  people  came  together  to  discuss  public  affairs,  or 
to  witness  triumphal  processions  returning  from  the  wars. 
Here  the  Roman  legions  came  with  mighty  tread  along  the 
Via  Sacra,  winding  their  way  up  to  the  Capitoline  Hill  to 
lay  their  trophies  at  the  feet  of  the  Senate. 

Perhaps  the  best  idea  of  the  splendor  and  magnificence  of 
ancient  Rome  may  be  gained  from  exploring  the  ruins  of  the 
palaces  of  the  Caesars.  They  are  of  vast  extent,  covering 
all  the  slopes  of  the  Palatine  Hill.  Here  great  excavations 
have  been  made.     The  walk  seems  endless  through  what  has 


OLD  ROME  AND  NEW  ROME.  247 

been  laid  open.  The  walls  are  built  like  a  fortress,  as  if  to 
last  forever,  and  decorated  with  every  resource  of  art  known 
to  that  age,  with  sculptures  and  ceilings  richly  painted,  like 
those  uncovered  in  the  houses  of  Pompeii.  These  buildings 
have  been  stripped  of  everything  that  was  movable — the 
statues  being  transported  to  the  galleries  of  the  Vatican. 
The  same  fate  has  overtaken  all  the  great  structures  of 
ancient  Rome.  They  have  been  divested  of  their  ornaments 
and  decoration,  of  gilding  and  bas-reliefs  and  statues,  and  in 
some  cases  have  been  quite  dismantled.  The  Coliseum,  it  is 
well  known,  was  used  in  the  Middle  Ages  as  a  quarry  for 
many  proud  noble  families,  and  out  of  it  were  built  some  of 
the  greatest  palaces  in  Rome.  Nothing  saved  the  Pantheon 
but  its  conversion  from  a  heathen  temple  into  a  Christian 
church.  Hundreds  and  thousands  of  columns  of  porphyry 
and  alabaster  and  costly  marbles,  which  now  adorn  the 
churches  of  Rome,  were  taken  from  the  ruins  of  temples  and 
palaces. 

But  though  thus  stripped  of  every  ornament,  ancient  Rome 
is  still  magnificent  in  her  ruins.  One  may  wander  for  days 
about  the  palaces  of  the  Caesars,  walking  through  the  libra- 
ries and  theatres,  under  the  arches  and  over  the  very  tessel- 
lated pavement  where  those  proud  emperors  walked  nearly 
two  thousand  years  ago.  He  should  ascend  to  the  highest 
point  of  the  ruins  to  take  in  their  full  extent,  and  there  he 
will  see,  looking  out  upon  the  Campagna,  a  long  line  of 
arches  reaching  many  miles,  over  which  water  was  brought 
from  the  distant  hills  for  the  Golden  House  of  Nero. 

Perhaps  the  most  massive  ruin  which  has  been  lately  un 
covered,  is  that  of  the  Baths  of  Caracalla,  which  give  an 
idea  of  the  luxury  and  splendor  of  ancient  Rome,  as  quite 
unequalled  in  modern  times. 

But,  of  course,  the  one  structure  which  interests  most  of 
all,  is  the  Coliseum  :  and  here  recent  excavations  have  made 
fresh  discoveries.     The  whole  area  has  been  dug  down  many 


218  OLD  ROME  AND  NEW  ROME. 

feet,  and  shows  a  vast  system  of  passages  underground  /  not 
only  those  through  which  wild  beasts  were  let  into  the  arena, 
but  conduits  for  water,  by  which  the  whole  amphitheatre 
could  be  flooded  and  turned  into  a  lake  large  enough  for 
Roman  galleys  to  sail  in ;  and  here  naval  battles  were  fought 
with  all  the  fury  of  a  conflict  between  actual  enemies,  to  the 
delight  of  Roman  emperor  and  people,  who  shouted  applause, 
when  blood  flowed  freely  on  the  decks,  and  dyed  the  waters 
below. 

There  is  one  reflection  that  often  recurs  to  me,  as  I  wander 
among  these  ruins — what  it  is  of  all  the  works  of  man  that 
really  lives.  Not  architecture  (the  palaces  of  the  Caesars  are 
but  heaps  of  ruins) ;  but  the  Roman  laws  remain,  incorporated 
with  the  legislation  of  every  civilized  country  on  the  globe ; 
while  Virgil  and  Cicero,  the  poet  and  the  orator,  are  the 
delight  of  all  who  know  the  Latin  tongue.  Thus  men  pass 
away,  their  very  monuments  may  perish,  but  their  thoughts, 
their  wisdom,  their  learning  and  their  genius  remain,  a  per- 
petual inheritance  to  mankind. 

After  Imperial  Rome  comes  Christian  Rome.  Many  of 
the  stories  of  the  first  Christian  centuries  are  fables  and 
legends.  Historical  truth  is  so  overlaid  with  a  mass  of 
traditions,  that  one  is  ready  to  reject  the  whole.  When 
they  show  you  here  the  stone  on  which  they  gravely 
tell  you  that  Abraham  bound  Isaac  for  the  sacrifice ;  and 
another  on  which  Mary  sat  when  she  brought  Christ  into 
the  temple  ;  and  the  staircase  from  Pilate's  house,  the  Scala 
Santa,  up  which  every  day  and  hour  pilgrims  may  be  seen 
going  on  their  knees ;  and  a  stone  showing  the  very  prints  of 
the  Saviour's  feet  when  he  appeared  to  Peter — one  is  apt.  to 
turn  away  in  disgust.  But  the  general  fact  of  the  early 
planting  of  Christianity  here,  we  know  from  the  new  Testa- 
ment itself.  Ecclesiastical  historians  are  not  agreed  whether 
Peter  was  ever  in  Rome  (although  he  is  claimed  as  the  first 
Pope),  but  that  Paul  was  here  we  know  from  his  epistles, 


OLD  ROME  AND  NEW  ROME.  249 

and  from  the  Book  of  Acts,  in  which  we  have  the  particu- 
lars of  his  "  appealing  to  Csesar,"  and  his  voyages  to  Italy, 
and  his  shipwreck  on  the  island  of  Malta,  his  landing  at  Pu- 
teoli,  and  going  "  towards  Rome,"  where  he  lived  two  years 
in  "  his  own  hired  house,"  "  preaching  and  teaching,  no  man 
forbidding  him."  Several  of  his  epistles  were  written  from 
Rome.  It  is  therefore  quite  probable  that  he  was  confined,  ac- 
cording to  the  tradition,  in  the  Mamertine  Prison  under  the 
Capitol,  and  one  cannot  descend  without  deep  emotion  into 
that  dark,  rocky  dungeon,  far  underground,  where  the  Great 
Apostle  was  once  a  prisoner,  and  from  which  he  was  led  forth 
to  die.  He  is  said  to  have  been  beheaded  without  the  walls. 
On  the  road  they  point  out  a  spot  (still  marked  by  a  rude 
figure  by  the  roadside  of  two  men  embracing),  where  it  is  said 
Paul  and  Peter  met  and  fell  on  each  other's  neck  on  the 
morning  of  the  last  day — Paul  going  to  be  beheaded,  and 
Peter  into  the  city  to  be  crucified,  which  at  his  own  request 
was  with  his  head  downwards,  for  he  would  not  be  crucified 
in  the  same  posture  as  his  Lord,  whom  he  had  once  denied. 
On  the  spot  where  Paul  is  said  to  have  suffered  now  rises 
one  of  the  grandest  churches  in  the  wTorld,  second  in  Rome 
only  to  St.  Peter's. 

So  the  persecutions  of  the  early  Christians  by  successive 
emperors  are  matters  of  authentic  history.  Knowing  this, 
we  visit  as  a  sacred  place  the  scene  of  their  martyrdom,  and 
shudder  at  seeing  on  the  walls  the  different  modes  of  torture 
by  which  it  was  sought  to  break  their  allegiance  to  the  faith  ; 
we  think  of  them  in  the  Coliseum,  where  they  were  thrown 
to  the  lions;  and  still  more  in  the  Catacombs,  to  which 
they  fled  for  refuge,  where  they  worshipped,  and  (as  Pliny 
wrote)  "  sang  hymns  to  Christ  as  to  a  God,"  and  where  still 
rest  their  bones,  with  many  a  rude  inscription,  testifying  of 
their  faith  and  hope. 

It  is  a  sad  reflection  that  the  Christian  Church,  once  estab- 
lished in   Rome,  should  afterwards  itself  turn  persecutor 
11* 


250  OLD  ROME  AND  NEW  ROME. 

But  unfortunately  it  too  became  intoxicated  with  power,  and 
could  brook  no  resistance  to  its  will.     The  Inquisition  was 
for  centuries  a  recognized  institution  of  the  Papacy — an  ap- 
pointed  means   for   guarding   the  purity  of  the  faith.     The 
building    devoted    to    the    service    of  that    tribunal    stands 
to  this  day,  close  by  the  Church  of  St.  Peter,  and  I  believe 
there  is   still  a  Papal  officer  who   bears   the  dread  title  of 
"  Grand   Inquisitor."     But  fortunately  his  office   no  longer 
inspires  terror,  for  it  is  at  last  reduced  to  the  punishment  of 
ecclesiastical  offences  by  ecclesiastical   discipline,  instead   of 
the  arm  of  flesh,  on  which  it  once  leaned.     But  the  old  build- 
ing is   at  once   "  a  prison  and  a  palace  " ;  the   cells  are  still 
there,  though  happily  unoccupied.     But  in  the  castle  of  St. 
Angelo  there  is  a  Chamber  of  Torture,  which  has  not  always 
been  merely  for  exhibition,  where  a  Pope  Clement  (what  a 
mockery  in  the  name  !)  had  Beatrice  Cenci  put  to  the  torture, 
and  forced  to  confess  a   crime  of  which  she  was  not  guilty. 
But  we  are  not  so  unjust  as  to  impute  all  these  cruelties  of  a 
former  and  a  darker  time  to  the  Catholic  Church  of  the  pres- 
ent day.     Those  were  ages  of  intolerance  and  of  persecution. 
But  none  can  deny  that  the  Church  has  always  been  fiercely 
intolerant.     There    is    no    doubt  that    the    massacre  of   St. 
Bartholomew  was  the  occasion  of  great  rejoicings  at  Rome. 
The  bloody  persecution  of  the  Waldenses  found  no  rebuke 
from  him  who  claimed  to  be  the  vicegerent  of  Christ ;  a  per- 
secution which  called  forth  from  Milton  that  sublime  prayer: 

Avenge,  O  Lord,  thy  slaughtered  saints, 
Whose  bones  lie  scattered  upon  the  Alpine  mountains  cold  ! 

Amid  such  bitter  recollections  it  is  good  to  remember  also  the 
message  of  Cromwell  to  the  Pope,  that  "  if  favor  were  not 
shown  to  the  people  of  God,  the  thunder  of  English  cannon 
should  be  heard  in  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo." 

It  seems  as  if  it  were  a  just  retribution  for  those  crimes 
of  a  former  age  that  the  Pope  in  these  last  days  has  had  to 


OLD  ROME  AND  NEW  ROME.  251 

walk  so  long  in  the  Valley  of  Humiliation.  Not  for  cen« 
turies  has  a  Pontiff  had  to  endure  such  repeated  blows. 
The  reign  of  Pius  IX.  has  been  longer  than  that  of  any  of 
his  predecessors ;  some  may  think  it  glorious,  but  it  has  wit- 
nessed at  once  the  most  daring  assumption  and  its  signal 
punishment — a  claim  of  infallibility,  which  belongs  to  God 
alone — followed  by  a  bitter  humiliation  as  if  God  would  cast 
this  idol  down  to  the  ground.  It  is  certainly  a  remarkable 
coincidence,  that  just  as  the  dogma  of  Infallibility  was  pro- 
claimed, Louis  Napoleon  rushed  into  war,  as  the  result  of 
which  Fiance,  the  chief  supporter  of  the  Papacy  (which  for 
twenty  years  had  kept  an  army  in  Rome  to  hold  the  Pope  on 
his  throne),  was  stricken  down,  and  the  first  place  in  Europe 
taken  by  a  Protestant  power.  Germany  had  already  hum- 
bled the  other  great  Catholic  power  of  Europe,  to  the  con- 
fusion and  dismay  of  the  Pope  and  his  councillors.  A  gen- 
tleman who  has  resided  for  many  years  in  Rome,  tells  me  that 
on  the  very  day  that  the  battle  of  Sadowa  was  fought,  Car- 
dinal Antonelli  told  a  friend  of  his  to  "  come  around  to  his 
house  that  night  to  get  the  news ;  that  he  expected  to  hear 
of  one  of  the  greatest  victories  ever  won  for  the  Church," 
so  confidently  did  he  and  his  master  the  Pope  anticipate  the 
triumph  of  Austria.  The  gentleman  went.  Hour  after  hour 
passed,  and  no  tidings  came.  It  was  midnight,  and  still  no 
news  of  victory.  Before  morning  the  issue  was  known,  that 
the  Austrian  army  was  destroyed.  Cardinal  Antonelli  did 
not  come  forth  to  proclaim  the  tidings.  He  shut  himself  up, 
said  my  informant,  and  was  not  seen  for  three  weeks  ! 

And  so  it  has  come  to  pass — whether  by  accident  or  de- 
sign, whether  by  the  violence  of  man  or  by  the  will  of  God — 
that  the  Pope  has  been  gradually  stripped  of  that  power  and 
prestige  which  once  so  acted  upon  the  imaginations  of  men, 
that,  like  Caesar,  "his  bend  did  awe  the  world,"  and  has  come 
to  be  merely  the  bishop,  or  archbishop,  of  that  portion  of 
Christendom  which  submits  to  the  Catholic  Church. 


252  OLD  ROME  AND  NEW  ROME. 

I  find  the  Rome  of  to-day  divided  into  two  camps.  The  Vat- 
ican is  set  over  against  the  Quirinal.  The  Pope  rules  in  one, 
and  victor  Emmanuel  in  the  other ;  and  neither  of  these  two 
sovereigns  has  anything  to  do  with  the  other. 

It  would  take  long  to  discuss  the  present  political  state  of 
Home  or  of  Italy.  Apart  from  the  right  or  wrong  of  this 
question,  it  is  evident  that  the  sympathies  of  the  Italian 
people  are  on  the  side  of  Victor  Emmanuel.  The  Roman 
people  have  had  a  long  experience  of  a  government  of  priests, 
and  they  do  not  like  it.  It  seems  as  if  the  world  wa3  enter- 
ing on  a  new  era,  and  the  Papacy,  infallible  and  immutable 
as  it  is,  must  change  too — it  must  "  move  on  "  or  be  over- 
whelmed. 


THE    PRISONER   OF   THE   VATICAN.  253 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    PRISONER    OF   THE    VATICAN. 

Rome,  October  15th. 

It  is  a  great  loss  to  travellers  who  come  to  Rome  to  see 
the  sights,  that  the  Pope  has  shut  himself  up  in  the  Vatican. 
In  the  good  old  times,  when  he  was  not  only  a  spiritual,  but 
a  civil  potentate — not  only  Pope,  but  King — he  used  to  ride 
about  a  great  deal  to  take  a  survey  of  his  dominions.  One 
might  meefc  him  of  an  afternoon  taking  an  airing  on  the 
Pincian  Hill,  or  on  some  of  the  roads  leading  out  of  Rome. 
He  always  appeared  in  a  magnificent  state  carriage,  of  red 
trimmed  with  gold,  with  six  horses  richly  caparisoned,  and 
outriders  going  before,  and  the  Swiss  guards  following  after. 
[What  would  poor  old  Peter  have  said,  if  he  had  met  his 
successor  coming  along  in  such  mighty  pomp  ?  ]  The  Car- 
dinals too,  arrayed  in  scarlet,  had  their  red  carriages  and 
their  fine  liveries,  and  their  horses  pranced  up  and  down  the 
Corso.  Thus  Rome  was  very  gay.  The  processions  too 
were  endless,  and  they  were  glorious  to  behold.  It  was 
indeed  a  grand  sight  to  see  the  Pope  and  all  his  Cardinals, 
in  their  scarlet  dresses,  sweeping  into  St.  Peter's  and  kneel- 
ing together  in  the  nave,  while  the  muskets  of  the  3wiss 
guards  rang  on  the  pavement,  in  token  of  the  might  of  arms 
which  then  attended  the  spiritual  power. 

But  now,  alas  !  all  this  is  ended.  The  spoiler  has  entered 
into  the  holy  place,  and  the  Holy  Father  appears  no  more  in 
the  streets.  Since  that  fatal  day  when  the  Italian  troops 
marched  into  Rome— the  20th  of  September,  1870— he  has  not 
put  his  foot  in  a  carriage,  nor  shown  himself  to  the  Roman 


-54  THE    PRISONER   OF    THE    VATICAN. 

people.  The  Cardinals,  who  live  in  different  parts  of  the 
city,  are  obliged  to  go  about ;  but  they  have  laid  aside  all 
their  fine  raiment  and  glittering  equipage,  and  appear  only 
In  solemn  black,  as  if  they  were  all  undertakers,  attending 
the  funeral  of  the  Papacy.  The  Pope  has  shut  himself  up 
closely  in  the  Vatican.  He  is,  indeed,  just  as  free  to  go 
abroad  as  ever.  There  is  nothing  to  prevent  his  riding  about 
Kome  as  usual.  But  no,  the  dear  old  man  will  have  it  that 
he  is  restrained  of  his  liberty,  and  calls  himself  "  a  prisoner  !  " 
To  be  sure  he  is  not  exactly  in  a  guard-house,  or  in  a  cell, 
such  as  those  in  the  Inquisition  just  across  the  square  of  St. 
Peter,  where  heretics  used  to  be  accommodated  with  rather 
close  quarters.  His  w  prison  "  is  a  large  one — a  palace,  with 
hundreds  of  richly  furnished  apartments,  where  he  is  sur- 
rounded with  luxury  and  splendor,  and  where  pilgrims  flock 
to  him  from  all  parts  of  the  earth.  It  is  a  princely  retreat 
for  one  in  his  old  age,  and  a  grand  theatre  on  which  to  assume 
the  role  of  martyr.  Almost  anybody  would  be  willing  to 
play  the  part  of  prisoner,  if  by  this  means  he  might  attract 
the  attention  and  sympathy  of  the  whole  civilized  world.* 

But  so  complete  is  this  voluntary  confinement  of  the  Pope, 
that  he  has  not  left  the  Vatican  in  these  five  years,  not  even 
to  go  into  St.  Peter's,  though  it  adjoins  the  Vatican,  and  he 
can  enter  it  by  a  private  passage.  It  is  whispered  that  he 
did  go  in  on  one  occasion,  to  see  his  own  portrait,  which  is 
wrought  in  mosaic,  and  placed  over  the  bronze  statue  of  St. 
Peter.  But  on  this  occasion  the  public  were  excluded,  and 
when  the  doors  were  opened  he  had  disappeared.     He  will 

*  This  pretence  of  being-  a  prisoner  is  so  plainly  a  device  to  excite 
public  sympathy,  that  it  is  exaggerated  in  the  most  absurd  manner. 
A  lady,  just  returned  from  the  Rhine,  tells  me  that  in  Germany  the 
Catholics  circulate  pictures  of  the  Pope  behind  the  bars  of  a  prison, 
and  even  sell  straws  of  his  bed,  to  show  that  he  is  compelled  to  sleep 
on  a  pallet  of  straw,  like  a  convict !  The  same  thing  is  done  in 
Ireland. 


THE   PRISONER    OF   THE   VATICAN.  255 

not  even  take  part  in  the  great  festivals  of  the  Church,  which 
are  thus  shorn  of  half  their  splendor. 

How  well  I  remember  the  gorgeous  ceremonies  of  Holy 
Week,  beginning  with  Palm  Sunday,  and  ending  with  Easter. 
I  was  one  of  the  foreigners  in  the  Sistine  Chapel  on  Good 
Friday,  when  the  Pope's  choir,  composed  of  eunuchs,  sang  the 
Miserere ;  and  on  the  Piazza  of  St.  Peter's  at  Easter,  when 
the  Pope  was  carried  on  men's  shoulders  to  the  great  central 
window,  where,  in  the  presence  of  an  immense  crowd,  he  pro- 
nounced his  benediction  urbi  et  orbi  ;  and  the  cannon  of  the 
Castle  of  St.  Angelo  thundered  forth  the  mighty  blessings 
which  had  thus  descended  on  i(  the  city  and  the  world."  I 
saw  too,  that  night,  the  illumination  of  St.  Peter's,  when 
arches  and  columns  and  roof  and  dome  were  hung  with 
lamps,  that  when  all  lighted  together,  made  such  a  flame  that 
it  seemed  as  if  the  very  heavens  were  on  fire. 

But  now  all  this  glory  and  splendor  have  gone  out  in  utter 
night.  There  are  no  more  blessings  for  unbelievers — nor 
even  for  the  faithful,  except  as  they  seek  them  within  the 
sacred  precincts  of  the  Vatican,  where  alone  the  successor  of 
St.  Peter  is  now  visible.  It  is  a  great  loss  to  those  who 
have  not  been  in  Rome  before,  especially  to  those  enthusias- 
tic persons  who  feel  that  they  cannot  "  die  happy  "  unless 
they  have  seen  the  Pope. 

But  I  do  not  need  anything  to  gratify  my  curiosity.  I 
have  seen  the  Pope  many  times  before,  and  I  recognize  in 
the  photographs  which  are  in  all  shop  windows  the  same 
face  which  I  saw  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago — only  aged  in- 
deed by  the  lapse  of  these  many  years.  It  is  a  good  face. 
I  used  to  think  he  looked  like  Dr.  Sprague  of  Albany,  who 
certainly  had  as  benevolent  a  countenance  as  ever  shone 
forth  in  kindness  on  one's  fellow  creatures.  All  who  know 
the  Pope  personally,  speak  of  him  as  a  very  kind-hearted 
man,  with  most  gentle  and  winning  manners.  This  I  fully 
believe,  but  is  it  not  a  strong  argument  against  the   system 


256  THE    PRISONER    OF    THE   VATICAN. 

in  which  he  is  bound,  that  it  turns  a  disposition  so  sweet 
into  bitterness,  and  leads  one  of  the  most  amiable  of  men  to 
do  things  very  inconsistent  with  the  meek  character  of  the 
Vicar  of  Christ ;  to  curse  where  he  ought  to  bless,  and  to 
call  down  fire  from  heaven  on  his  enemies  ?  But  his  natural 
instincts  are  all  good.  When  I  was  here  before  he  was  uni- 
versally popular.  His  predecessor,  Gregory  XVI.,  had  been 
very  conservative.  But  when  Cardinal  Mastai  Ferretti — ■ 
for  that  was  his  name — was  elected  Pope,  he  began  a  series 
of  reforms,  which  elated  the  Roman  people,  and  caused  the 
eyes  of  all  Europe  to  be  turned  towards  him  as  the  coming 
man.  He  was  the  idol  of  the  hour.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had 
been  raised  up  by  Providence  to  lead  the  nations  in  the  path 
of  peaceful  progress.  But  the  Revolutions  of  1848,  in 
Paris  and  elsewhere,  frightened  him.  And  when  Garibaldi 
took  possession  of  Rome,  and  proclaimed  the  Republic,  his 
ardor  for  reform  was  entirely  gone.  He  escaped  from  the 
city  disguised  as  a  valet,  and  fled  for  protection  to  the  King 
of  Naples,  and  was  afterwards  brought  back  by  French 
troops.  From  that  time  he  surrendered  himself  entirely  to 
the  Reactionary  party,  and  since  then,  while  as  well  mean- 
ing as  ever,  he  is  the  victim  of  a  system,  from  which  he  can- 
not escape,  and  which  makes  him  do  things  wholly  at  vari- 
ance with  his  kindly  and  generous  nature. 

Even  the  staunchest  Protestants  who  go  to  see  the  Pope 
are  charmed  with  him.  They  had,  perhaps,  thought  of  him 
as  the  "  Giant  Pope,"  whom  Bunyan  describes  as  sitting  at 
the  mouth  of  a  cave,  and  glaring  fiercely  at  Pilgrims  as  they 
go  by ;  and  they  are  astonished  to  find  him  a  very  simple  old 
man,  pleasant  in  conversation,  fond  of  ladies'  society,  with  a 
great  deal  of  humor,  enjoying  a  joke  as  much  as  anybody, 
with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  and  a  face  all  smiles,  as  if 
he  had  never  uttered  an  anathema.  This  is  indeed  very 
agreeable,  but  all  the  more  does  it  make  one  astounded  at 
the  incongruity  between  such  pleasant  pastime  and  his  awful 


THE   PRISONER   OF   THE    VATICAN.  257 

spiritual  pretensions — for  this  man  who  stands  there,  chatting 
so  familiarly,  and  laughing  so  heartily,  professes  to  believe 
that  he  is  the  vicegerent  of  the  Almighty  upon  earth,  and 
that  he  has  the  power  to  open  and  shut  the  gates  of  hell ! 
God  forgive  him  for  the  blasphemy  of  such  a  thought !  It 
seems  incredible  that  he  can  believe  it  himself ;  or,  if  he  did, 
that  the  curses  could  roll  so  lightly  from  his  lips.  But  ana- 
themas appear  to  be  a  part  of  his  daily  recreation.  He  seems 
really  to  enjoy  firing  a  volley  into  his  enemies,  as  one  would 
fire  a  gun  into  a  flock  of  pigeons.  Here  is  the  last  shot 
which  I  find  in  the  paper  of  this  very  day : 

*  The  Roman  Catholic  papers  at  The  Hague  publish  a  pas- 
toral letter  from  the  Pope  to  the  Archbishop  of  Utrecht, 
by  which  his  Holiness  makes  known  that  Johannes  Heykamp 
has  been  excommunicated,  as  he  has  allowed  himself  to  be 
elected  and  ordained  as  archbishop  of  the  Jansenists  in  Hol- 
land, and  also  Johannes  Rinkel,  who  calls  himself  Bishop  of 
Haarlem,  who  performed  the  ordination.  The  Pope  also  de- 
clares to  be  excommunicated  all  those  who  assisted  at  the 
ceremony.  The  Pope  also  calls  this  ordination  '  a  vile  and 
despicable  deed,'  and  warns  all  good  Catholics  not  to  have 
any  intercourse  with  the  perpetrators  of  it,  but  to  pray  with- 
out ceasing  that  God  may  turn  their  hearts." 

It  is  noteworthy  that  all  these  anathemas  are  simply  for 
ecclesiastical  offences,  not  for  any  immorality,  however  gross. 
The  Queen  of  Spain  may  be  notorious  for  her  profligacy,  yet 
she  receives  no  rebuke,  she  is  even  as  a  beloved  daughter,  to 
whom  the  Pope  sends  presents,  so  long  as  she  is  devout  and 
reverent  towards  him,  or  towards  the  Church.  So  any  prince, 
or  private  gentleman,  may  break  all  the  Ten  Commandments, 
and  still  be  a  good  Catholic;  but  if  he  doubts  Infallibility,  he 
is  condemned.  All  sins  may  be  forgiven,  except  rebellion 
against  the  Church  or  the  Pope.  He  has  excommunicated 
Dollinger,  the  most  learned  Catholic  theologian  in  Europe,  and 
Father  Hyacinthe,  the  most  eloquent  preacher.     Poor  Victoi 


258  THE    PRISONER    OF    THE   VATICAN. 

Emmanuel  comes  in  for  oft-repeated  curses,  simply  because 
in  a  great  political  crisis  he  yielded  to  the  inevitable.  He 
did  not  seize  Rome.  It  was  the  Italian  people,  whom  he 
could  no  more  stop  than  he  could  stop  the  inrolling  of  the 
sea.  If  he  had  not  gone  before  the  people  they  would  have 
gone  over  him.  But  for  this  he  is  cut  off  from  the  commu- 
nion of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  delivered  over,  so  far  as  the 
anathema  of  the  Pope  can  do  it,  to  the  pains  of  hell. 

And  yet  if  we  allege  this  as  proof  that  some  remains  of 
human  infirmity  still  cling  to  the  Infallible  Head  of  the 
Church,  or  that  a  very  kind  nature  has  been  turned  into  gall 
and  bitterness,  we  are  told  by  those  who  have  just  come  from 
a  reception  that  he  was  all  sweetness  and  smiles.  An  Eng- 
lish priest  who  is  in  our  hotel  had  an  audience  last  evening, 
and  he  says:  "  The  Holy  Father  was  very  jolly,  laughing 
heartily  at  every  pleasantry."  It  does  one  good  to  see  an  old 
man  so  merry  and  light-hearted,  but  does  not  such  gayety 
seem  a  little  forced  or  out  of  place  ?  Men  who  have  no 
cares  on  their  minds  may  laugh  and  be  gay,  but  for  the  Vicar 
of  Christ  does  it  not  seem  to  imply  that  he  attaches  no  weight 
to  the  maledictions  that  he  throws  about  so  liberally  ?  If  he 
felt  the  awful  meaning  of  what  he  utters,  he  could  not  so 
easily  preserve  his  good  spirits  and  his  merriment,  while  he 
consigns  his  fellow-men  to  perdition.  One  would  think  that 
if  obliged  to  pronounce  such  a  doom  upon  any,  he  would 
do  it  with  tears — that  he  would  retire  into  his  closet,  and 
throw  ashes  upon  his  head,  and  come  forth  in  sackcloth,  over- 
whelmed at  the  hard  necessity  which  compelled  the  stern 
decree.  But  it  does  not  seem  to  interfere  with  any  of  his 
enjoyments.  He  gives  a  reception  at  which  he  is  smiling 
and  gracious,  and  then  proceeds  to  cast  out  some  wretched 
fellow-creature  from  the  communion  of  the  Holy  Catholic 
Church.  There  is  something  shocking  in  the  easy,  off-hand 
manner  in  which  he  despatches  his  enemies.  He  anathema- 
tizes with  as  little  concern  as  he  takes  his  breakfast,  appa- 


THE   PRISONER   OF   THE    VATICAN.  259 

rently  attaching  as  much  solemnity  to  one  as  the  other.  Tho 
mixture  of  levity  with  stern  duties  is  not  a  pleasant  sight,  as 
when  one  orders  an  execution  between  the  puffs  of  a  cigar . 
But  this  holy  man,  this  Vicegerent  of  God  on  earth,  pro- 
nounces a  sentence  more  awful  still ;  for  he  orders  what,  ac- 
cording to  his  theory ,  is  worse  than  an  execution — an  excom- 
munication. Yet  he  does  it  quite  unconcerned.  If  he  does 
not  order  an  anathema  between  the  puffs  of  a  cigar,  he  does 
it  between  two  pinches  of  snuff.  Such  levity  would  be  in- 
conceivable, if  we  could  suppose  that  he  really  believes  that 
his  curses  have  power  to  harm,  that  they  cast  a  feather's 
weight  into  the  scale  that  decides  the  eternal  destiny  of  a 
human  soul.  We  do  not  say  that  he  is  conscious  of  any 
hypocrisy.  Far  from  it.  It  is  one  of  those  cases,  which  are 
so  common  in  the  world,  in  which  there  is  an  unconscious 
contradiction  between  one's  private  feelings  and  his  public 
conduct ;  in  which  a  man  is  far  better  than  his  theory.  We 
do  not  believe  the  Pope  is  half  as  bad  as  he  would  make 
himself  to  be — half  so  resentful  and  vindictive  as  he  appears. 
As  we  sometimes  say,  in  excuse  for  harsh  language,  "  he  don't 
mean  anything  by  it."  He  does  mean  something,  viz.,  to  as- 
sert his  own  authority.  But  he  does  not  quite  desire  to 
deliver  up  his  fellow-creatures  to  the  pains  of'eternal  death. 
We  are  truly  sorry  for  the  Pope.  He  is  an  old  man,  and 
with  all  his  natural  gentleness,  may  be  supposed  to  have 
something  of  the  irritability  of  age.  And  now  he  is  engaged 
in  a  contest  in  which  he  is  sure  to  fail ;  he  is  fighting  against 
the  inevitable,  against  a  course  of  things  which  he  has  no 
more  power  to  withstand  than  to  breast  the  current  of  Niag- 
ara. He  might  as  well  take  his  stand  on  the  brink  of  the 
great  cataract,  and  think  by  the  force  of  prayers  or  maledic- 
tions to  stop  the  flowing  of  the  mighty  waters.  All  the 
powers  of  Europe  are  against  him.  Among  the  sovereigns 
he  has  not  a  single  friend,  or,  at  least,  one  who  has  any  power 
to  help  him.     The  Emperor  of  Germany  is  this  week  on  a 


260  THE    PRISONER   OP   THE    VATICAN. 

visit  to  Milan  as  the  guest  of  Victor  Emmanuel.  But  he 
will  not  come  to  Rome  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  Pope.  The 
Emperor  of  Austria  came  to  Venice  last  spring,  but  neither 
did  he,  though  he  is  a  good  Catholic,  continue  his  journey  as 
far  as  the  Vatican.  Thus  the  Pope  is  left  alone.  For  this 
he  has  only  himself  to  blame.  He  has  forced  the  conflict, 
and  now  he  is  in  a  false  position,  from  which  there  is  no 
escape. 

All  Europe  is  looking  anxiously  to  the  event  of  the  Pope's 
death.  He  has  already  filled  the  Papal  chair  longer  than  any 
one  of  his  two  hundred  and  fifty-six  predecessors,  running 
back  to  St.  Peter.  But  he  is  still  hale  and  strong,  and  though 
he  is  eighty- three  years  old,*  he  may  yet  live  a  few  years 
longer.  He  belongs  to  a  very  long  lived  family  ;  his  grand- 
father died  at  ninety-three,  his  father  at  eighty-three,  his 
mother  at  eighty  eight,  his  eldest  brother  at  ninety.  Protes- 
tants certainly  may  well  pray  that  he  should  be  blessed  with 
the  utmost  length  of  days ;  for  the  longer  he  lives,  and  the 
more  obstinate  he  is  in  his  reactionary  policy,  the  more  pro- 
nounced does  he  force  Italy  to  become  in  its  antagonism,  and 
not  only  Italy,  but  Austria  and  Bavaria,  as  well  as  Protes- 
tant Germany.     May  he  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old  ! 

*  I  give  his  age  as  put  down  in  the  books,  where  the  date  of  his 
birth  is  given  as  May  13,  1792  ;  although  our  English  priest  tells  me 
that  the  Pope  himself  says  that  he  is  eighty  -jive,  adding  playfully 
that  "  his  enemies  have  deprived  him  of  his  dominions,  and  his 
friends  of  two  years  of  his  life."  My  informant  says  that,  not- 
withstanding his  great  age,  he  is  in  perfect  health,  with  not  a  sign  of 
weakness  or  decay  about  him,  physically  or  intellectually.  He  is 
a  tough  old  oak,  that  may  stand  all  the  storms  that  rage  about 
him  for  years  to  come. 


PIC1URES   AND    PALACES.  2C1 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PICTURES   AND    PALACES. 

Before  we  go  away  from  Rome  I  should  like  to  say  a  few 
words  on  two  subjects  which  hitherto  I  have  avoided.  A 
large  part  of  the  time  of  most  travellers  in  Europe  is  spent 
in  wandering  through  palaces  and  picture  galleries,  but  de- 
scriptions of  the  former  would  be  tedious  by  their  very  mo- 
notony of  magnificence,  and  of  the  latter  would  be  hardly  in- 
telligible to  unprofessional  readers,  nor  of  much  value  to  any- 
bod}^,  unless  the  writer  were,  what  I  do  not  profess  to  be,  a 
thorough  critic  in  art.  But  I  have  certain  general  impres- 
sions, which  1  may  express  with  due  modesty,  and*yet  with 
frankness,  and  which  may  perchance  accord  with  the  impres- 
sions of  some  other  very  plain,  but  not  quite  unintelligent, 
people. 

One  who  has  not  been  abroad — I  might  almost  say,  who 
has  not  lived  abroad — cannot  realize  how  much  art  takes  hold 
of  the  imagination  of  a  people,  and  enters  into  their  very 
life.  It  is  the  form  in  which  Italian  genius  has  most  often 
expressed  itself.  What  poetry  is  in  some  countries,  art  is  in 
Italy.  England  had  great  poets  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth,  but 
no  great  painters,  at  a  time  when  the  churches  and  galleries 
of  Italy  were  illuminated  by  the  genius  of  Raphael  and  Titian 
and  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

The  products  of  such  genius  have  been  a  treasure  to  Italy 
and  to  the  world.  Works  of  art  are  immortal.  Raphael  is 
dead,  but  the  Transfiguration  lives.     As  the  paintings  of 


2G2  PICTURES   AND    PALACES. 

great  masters  accumulated  from  century  to  century,  they  were 
gathered  in  public  or  private  collections,  which  became,  like 
the  libraries  of  universities,  storehouses  for  the  delight  and 
instruction  of  mankind.  Such  works  justly  command  the 
homage  and  reverence  which  are  due  to  the  highest  creations 
of  the  human  intellect.  The  man  who  has  put  on  canvas 
conceptions  which  are  worthy  to  live,  has  left  a  legacy  to  the 
human  race.  "  When  I  think,"  said  an  old  monk,  who  was 
accustomed  to  show  paintings  on  the  walls  of  his  monastery, 
"  how  men  come,  generation  after  generation,  to  see  these 
pictures,  and  how  they  pass  away,  but  these  remain,  I  some- 
times think  that  these  are  the  realities,  and  that  we  are  the 
shadows." 

But  with  all  this  acknowledgment  of  the  genius  that  is 
thus  immortal,  and  that  gives  delight  to  successive  genera- 
tions, there  are  one  or  two  drawbacks  to  the  pleasure  I  have 
derived  from  these  great  collections  of  art. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  the  embarrassment  of  riches. 
One  who  undertakes  to  visit  all  the  picture  galleries,  even 
of  a  single  city  like  Home  or  Florence,  soon  finds  himself 
overwhelmed  by  their  number.  He  goes  on  day  after  day, 
racing  from  one  place  to  another,  looking  here  and  there  in 
the  most  hurried  manner,  till  his  mind  becomes  utterly  con- 
fused, and  he  gains  no  definite  impression.  It  is  as  impossi 
ble  to  study  with  care  all  these  pictures,  as  it  would  be  to 
read  all  the  books  in  a  public  library,  which  are  not  intended 
to  be  read  "by  wholesale,"  but  only  to  be  used  for  reference. 
So  with  the  great  collections  of  paintings,  which  are  arranged 
in  a  certain  order,  so  as  to  give  an  idea  of  the  style  of  differ- 
ent countries,  such  as  the  Dutch  school,  the  Venetian  school, 
etc.  These  are  very  useful  for  one  who  wishes  to  trace  the 
history  of  art,  but  the  ordinary  traveller  does  not  care  to 
go  into  such  detail.  To  him  a  much  smaller  number  of  pic- 
tures, carefully  chosen,  would  give  more  pleasure  and  more 
instruction. 


PICTURES    AND    PALACES.  2G3 

Further,  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  with  all  the  genius  of 
the  old  masters  (which  no  one  is  more  ready  to  confess,  and 
in  which  no  one  takes  more  intense  delight),  there  is  some- 
times a  worship  of  them,  which  is  extended  to  all  their  works 
without  discrimination,  which  is  not  the  result  of  personal 
observation,  nor  quite  consistent  with  mental  independence. 
Indeed,  there  are  few  things  in  which  the  empire  of  fashion 
is  more  absolute,  and  more  despotic.  It  is  at  this  point  that 
I  meekly  offer  a  protest.  I  admit  fully  and  gratefully  the 
marvellous  genius  of  some  of  the  old  painters,  but  I  cannot 
admit  that  everything  they  touched  was  equally  good. 
Homer  sometimes  nods,  and  even  Raphael  and  Titian — great 
as  they  are,  and  superior  perhaps  to  everybody  else — are  not 
always  equal  to  themselves.  Raphael  worked  very  rapidly, 
as  is  shown  by  the  number  of  pictures  which  he  left,  although 
he  died  a  young  iri%n.  Of  course,  his  works  must  be  very 
unequal,  and  we  may  all  exercise  our  taste  in  preferring  some 
to  others. 

In  another  respect  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  a  limitation 
of  the  greatness  even  of  the  old  masters,  viz.,  in  the  range 
of  their  subjects,  in  which  I  find  a  singular  monotony.  In 
the  numberless  galleries  that  we  have  visited  this  summer,  I 
have  observed  in  the  old  pictures,  with  all  their  power  of 
drawing  and  richness  of  color,  a  remarkable  sameness,  both 
of  subject  and  of  treatment.  Even  the  greatest  artists  have 
their  manner,  which  one  soon  comes  to  recognize ;  so  that  he 
is  rarely  mistaken  in  designating  the  painter.  I  know  a 
picture  of  Rubens  anywhere  by  the  colossal  limbs  that  start 
out  of  the  canvas.  Paul  Veronese  always  spreads  himself 
over  a  large  surface,  where  he  has  room  to  bring  in  a  great 
number  of  figures,  and  introduce  details  of  architecture. 
Give  him  the  Marriage  at  Cana,  or  a  Royal  Feast,  and  he 
will  produce  a  picture  which  will  furnish  the  whole  end  of  a 
palace  hall.  It  is  very  grand,  of  course ;  but  when  one  sees 
a  constant  recurrence  of  the  same  general  style,  he  recognizes 


2G4  PICTURES    AND    PALACES. 

the  limitations  of  the  painter's  genius.  Or,  to  go  from  large 
pictures  to  small  ones,  there  is  a  Dutch  artist,  Wouvermans, 
whose  pictures  are  in  every  gallery  in  Europe.  I  have  seen 
hundreds  of  them,  and  not  one  in  which  he  does  not  introduce 
a  white  horse  ! 

Even  the  greatest  of  the  old  masters  seem  to  have  exer- 
cised their  genius  upon  a  limited  number  of  subjects.  Dur- 
ing the  Middle  Ages  art  was  consecrated  almost  wholly  to 
religion.  Some  of  the  painters  were  themselves  devout 
men,  and  wrought  with  a  feeling  of  religious  devotion.  Era 
Angelico  was  a  monk  (in  the  same  monastery  at  Florence 
with  Savonarola),  and  regarded  his  art  as  a  kind  of  priest- 
hood, going  from  his  prayers  to  his  painting,  and  from  his 
painting  to  his  prayers.  Others  felt  the  same  influence, 
though  in  a  less  degree.  In  devoting  themselves  to  art,  they 
were  moved  at  once  by  the  inspiration  #of  genius  and  the 
inspiration  of  religion.  Others  still,  who  were  not  at  all 
saintly  in  their  lives,  yet  painted  for  churches  and  convents. 
Thus,  from  one  cause  or  another,  almost  all  the  art  of  that 
day  was  employed  to  illustrate  religious  subjects.  Of  these 
there  was  one  that  was  before  all  others — the  Holy  Family, 
or  the  Virgin  and  her  Child.  This  appears  and  reappears  in 
every  possible  form.  We  can  understand  the  attraction  of 
such  a  subject  to  an  artist ;  for  to  him  the  Virgin  was  the 
ideal  of  viomauhood,  to  paint  whom  was  to  embody  his  con- 
ception of  the  most  exquisite  womanly  sweetness  and  grace. 
And  in  this  how  well  did  the  old  masters  succeed !  No  one 
who  has  a  spark  of  taste  or  sensibility  can  deny  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  some  of  their  pictures  of  the  Virgin — the  tender- 
ness, the  grace,  the  angelic  purity.  What  sweetness  have 
they  given  to  the  face  of  that  young  mother,  so  modest,  yet 
flushed  with  the  first  dawning  of  maternal  love  !  What 
affection  looks  out  of  those  tender  eyes  !  In  the  celebrated 
picture  of  Raphael  in  the  Gallery  at  Florence,  called  "  The 
Madonna  of  the  Chair,"  the  Virgin  is  seated,  and  clasps  her 


PICTURES   AND    PALACES.  265 

child  to  her  breast,  who  turns  his  large  eyes,  with  a  wonder* 
ing  gaze,  at  the  world  in  which  he  is  to  live  and  to  suffer. 
One  stands  before  such  a  picture  transfixed  at  a  loveliness 
that  seems  almost  divine. 

But  of  all  the  Madonnas  of  Raphael  - — or  of  any  master — 
which  I  have  seen,  I  prefer  that  at  Dresden,  where  the 
Virgin  is  not  seated,  but  standing  erect  at  her  full  height, 
with  the  clouds  under  her  feet,  soaring  to  heaven  with  the 
Christ-child  in  her  arms.  When  I  went  into  the  room  set 
apart  to  that  picture  (for  no  other  is  worthy  to  keep  it  com- 
pany), I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  a  church;  every  one  spoke  in 
whispers ;  it  seemed  as  if  ordinary  conversation  were  an 
impertinence ;  as  if  it  would  break  the  spell  of  that  sacred 
presence. 

Something  of  the  same  effect  (some  would  call  it  even 
greater)  is  produced  by  Titian's  or  Murillo's  painting  of  the 
"  Assumption"  of  the  Virgin — that  is,  her  being  caught  up 
into  the  clouds,  with  the  angels  hovering  around  her,  over 
her  head  and  under  her  feet.  One  of  these  great  paintings  is 
at  Venice,  and  the  other  in  the  Louvre  at  Paris.  In  both 
the  central  figure  is  floating,  like  that  of  Christ  in  the  Trans- 
figuration. The  Assumption  is  a  favorite  subject  of  the  old 
masters,  and  reappears  everywhere,  as  does  the  "  Annuncia- 
tion "  by  the  Angel  of  the  approaching  birth  of  Christ,  the 
"  Nativity,"  and  the  coming  of  the  Magi  to  adore  the  holy 
child.  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  gallery  in  Italy,  and  hardly 
a  private  collection,  in  which  there  are  not  "  Nativities  "  and 
u  Assumptions  "  and  "  Annunciations." 

But  if  some  of  these  pictures  are  indeed  wonderful,  there 
are  others  which  are  not  at  all  divine ;  which  are  of  the 
earth,  earthy ;  in  which  the  Virgin  is  nothing  more  than  a 
pretty  woman,  chosen  as  a  type  of  female  beauty  (just  as  a 
Greek  sculptor  would  aim  to  give  his  ideal  in  a  statue  of 
Venus),  painted  sometimes  on  a  Jewish,  but  more  often  on  an 
Italian,  model.  In  Holland  the  Madonnas  have  a  decidedlv 
12 


266  PICTURES   AND   PALACES. 

Dutch  style  of  beauty.  We  may  be  pardoned  if  we  do  not  go 
into  raptures  over  them. 

When  the  old  masters,  after  painting  the  Virgin  Mary, 
venture  on  an  ideal  of  our  Lord  himself,  they  are  less  suc- 
cessful, because  the  subject  is  more  difficult.  They  attempt 
to  portray  the  Divine  Man ;  but  who  can  paint  that  blessed 
countenance,  so  full  of  love  and  sorrow?  That  brow,  heavy 
with  care,  that  eye  so  tender?  I  have  seen  hundreds  of 
Ecce  Homos,  but  not  one  that  gave  me  a  new  or  more  ex- 
alted impression  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world  than  I  obtain 
from  the  New  Testament. 

But  if  it  seems  almost  presumption  to  attempt  to  paint  our 
Saviour,  what  shall  we  say  to  the  introduction  of  the  Supreme 
Being  upon  the  canvas  ?  Yet  this  appears  very  often  in  the 
paintings  of  the  old  masters.  I  cannot  but  think  it  was 
suggested  by  the  fact  that  the  Greek  sculptors  made  statues 
of  the  gods  for  their  temples.  As  they  undertook  to  give 
the  head  of  Jupiter,  so  these  Christian  artists  thought  they 
could  paint  the  Almighty  !  Not  unfrequently  they  give  the 
three  persons  of  the  Trinity — the  Father  being  represented 
as  an  old  man  with  a  long  beard,  floating  on  a  cloud,  the 
Spirit  as  a  dove,  while  the  Son  is  indicated  by  a  human  form 
bearing  a  cross.  Can  anything  be  more  repulsive  than  such 
a  representation !  These  are  things  beyond  the  reach  of  art. 
No  matter  what  genius  may  be  in  certain  artistic  details,  the 
picture  is,  and  must  be,  a  failure,  because  it  is  an  attempt  to 
paint  the  unpaintable. 

Next  to  Madonnas  and  Holy  Families,  the  old  masters  de- 
light in  the  painting  of  saints  and  martyrs.  And  here  again 
the  same  subjects  recur  with  wearying  uniformity.  I  should 
be  afraid  to  say  how  many  times  I  have  seen  St.  Lawrence 
stretched  on  his  gridiron  ;  and  youthful  St.  Sebastian  bound 
to  a  tree,  and  pierced  with  arrows ;  and  old  St.  Anthony  in 
the  desert,  assaulted  by  the  temptations  of  the  devil.  No 
doubt  these  were  blessed  martyrs,  but  after  being  exhibited 


PICTURES   AND    PALACES.  267 

for  so  many  centuries  to  the  gaze  of  the  world,  I  should  think 
it  would  be  a  relief  for  them  to  retire  to  the  enjoyment  of 
the  heavenly  paradise. 

Is  it  not,  then,  a  just  criticism  of  those  who  painted  all 
those  Madonnas  and  saints  and  martyrs,  to  say,  while  admit- 
ting their  transcendent  genius,  that  still  their  works  present  a 
magnificent  monotony,  both  of  subject  and  of  treatment,  and 
at  last  weary  the  eye  even  by  their  interminable  splendors  ? 

Another  point  in  which  the  same  works  are  signally  defec- 
tive, is  in  the  absence  of  landscape  painting.  It  has  been 
often  remarked  of  the  classic  poets,  that  while  they  describe 
human  actions  and  passions,  they  show  a  total  insensibility 
to  the  beauties  of  nature.  The  same  deficiency  appears  in  the 
paintings  of  the  old  masters.  Seldom  do  they  attempt  land- 
scape. Sometimes  a  clump  of  trees,  or  a  glimpse  of  sky, 
is  introduced  as  a  background  for  figures,  but  it  is  almost 
always  subordinate  to  the  general  effect. 

Here,  then,  it  seems  to  me  no  undue  assumption  of  modern 
pride  to  say  that  the  artists  of  the  present  day  are  not  only 
the  equals  of  the  old  masters,  but  their  superiors.  They 
have  learned  of  the  Mighty  Mother  herself.  They  have 
communed  with  nature.  They  have  felt  the  ineffable 
beauty  of  the  woods  and  lakes  and  rivers,  of  the  moun- 
tains and  the  meadows,  of  the  valleys  and  the  hills,  of 
the  clouds  and  skies,  and  in  painting  these,  have  led  us  into 
a  new  world  of  beauty.  As  I  am  an  enthusiastic  lover  of 
nature,  I  feel  like  standing  up  for  the  Moderns  against  the 
Ancients,  and  saying  (at  the  risk  of  being  set  down  as  want- 
ing in  taste)  that  I  have  derived  as  much  pleasure  from  some 
of  the  pictures  which  I  have  seen  at  the  Annual  Exhibitions 
in  London  and  Paris,  and  even  in  New  York,  as  from  any, 
except  a  few  hundred  of  the  very  best  of  the  pictures  which 
I  have  seen  here. 

I  am  led  to  speak  thus  freely,  because  I  am  slightly  dis' 
gusted  with  the  abject  servility  in  this  matter  of  many  for- 


268  PICTURES   AND    PALACES. 

eign  tourists.  I  see  them  going  through  these  galleries,  guide« 
book  in  hand,  consulting  it  at  every  step,  to  know  what  they 
must  admire,  and  not  daring  to  express  an  opinion,  nor  even 
to  enjoy  what  they  see  until  they  turn  to  what  is  said  by 
Murray  or  Baedeker.  Of  course  guide-books  are  useful,  and 
even  necessary,  and  one  can  hardly  go  into  a  gallery  without 
one,  to  serve  at  least  as  a  catalogue,  but  they  must  not  take 
the  place  of  one's  own  eyes.  If  we  are  ever  to  know  any- 
thing of  art,  we  must  begin,  however  modestly,  to  exercise 
our  own  judgment.  While  therefore  I  would  have  everv 
traveller  use  his  guide-book  freely,  I  would  have  him  use  still 
more  his  eyes  and  his  brain,  and  try  to  exercise,  so  as  to  cul- 
tivate, his  taste. 

Is  it  not  time  for  Americans,  who  boast  so  much  of  their 
independence,  to  show  a  little  of  it  here  ?  Some  come 
abroad  only  to  learn  to  despise  their  own  country.  For  my 
part,  the  more  I  see  of  other  countries,  while  appreciating 
them  fully,  the  more  I  love  my  own ;  I  love  its  scenery,  its 
landscapes,  and  its  homes,  and  its  men  and  women ;  and  while 
I  would  not  commit  the  opposite  mistake  of  a  foolish  conceit 
of  everything  American,  I  think  our  artists  show  a  fair  share 
of  talent,  which  can  best  be  developed  by  a  constant  study  of 
nature.  Nature  is  greater  than  the  old  masters.  What  sun- 
set ever  painted  by  Claude  or  Poussin  equals,  or  even  ap- 
proaches, what  we  often  see  when  the  sun  sinks  in  the  west, 
covering  the  clouds  with  gold  ?  If  our  artists  are  to  paint 
sunsets,  let  them  not  go  to  picture  galleries,  but  out  of  doors, 
and  behold  the  glory  of  the  dying  day.  Let  them  paint 
nature  as  they  see  it  at  home.  Nature  is  not  fairer  in  Italy 
than  in  America.  Let  them  paint  American  landscapes,  giv- 
ing, if  they  can,  the  beauty  of  our  autumnal  woods,  and  all 
the  glory  of  the  passing  year.  If  they  will  keep  closely  to 
nature,  instead  of  copying  old  masters,  they  may  produce  an 
original,  as  well  as  a  true  and  genuine  school  of  art,  and  will 
till  our  galleries  and  our  homes  with  beauty. 


PICTURES    AND    PALACES.  269 

From  Pictures  to  Palaces  is  an  easy  transition,  as  these  are 
the  temples  in  which  works  of  art  are  enshrined.  Many 
years  ago,  when  I  first  came  abroad,  a  lady  in  London,  who 
is  well  known  both  in  England  and  America,  took  me  to  see 
Stafford  House,  the  residence  of  the  Duke  of  Sutherland, 
saying  that  it  was  much  finer  than  Buckingham  Palace,  and 
"  the  best  they  had  to  show  in  England,"  but  that, i(  of  course, 
it  was  nothing  to  what  I  should  see  on  the  Continent,  and 
especially  in  Italy."  Since  then  I  have  visited  palaces  in 
almost  every  capital  in  Europe.  I  find  indeed  that  Italy 
excels  all  other  countries  in  architecture,  as  she  does  in  an- 
other form  of  art.  When  her  cities  were  the  richest  in  Europe, 
drawing  to  themselves  the  commerce  and  the  wealth  of  the 
East,  it  was  natural  that  the  doges  and  dukes  and  princes 
should  display  their  magnificence  in  the  rearing  of  costly 
palaces.  These,  while  they  differ  in  details,  have  certain 
general  features  in  which  they  are  all  pretty  much  alike — 
stately  proportions,  grand  entrances,  broad  staircases,  lofty 
ceilings,  apartments  of  immense  size,  with  columns  of 
porphyry  and  alabaster  and  lapis  lazuli,  and  pavements  ot 
mosaic  or  tessellated  marble,  with  no  end  of  costliness  in 
decoration ;  ceilings  loaded  with  carving  and  gilding,  and 
walls  hung  with  tapestries,  and  adorned  with  paintings  by 
the  first  masters  in  the  world.  Such  is  the  picture  of  many 
a  palace  that  one  may  see  to-day  in  Venice  and  Genoa  and 
Florence  and  Rome. 

If  any  of  my  readers  feel  a  touch  of  envy  at  the  tale  of 
such  magnificence,  it  may  comfort  them  to  hear,  that  proba- 
bly their  own  American  homes,  though  much  less  splendid, 
are  a  great  deal  more  comfortable.  These  palaces  were  not 
built  for  comfort,  but  for  pride  and  for  show.  They  are  well 
enough  for  courts  and  for  state  occasions,  but  not  for  ordinary 
life.  They  have  few  of  those  comforts  which  we  consider 
indispensable  in  our  American  homes.  It  is  almost  impossi- 
ble to  keep  them  warm.  Their  vast  halls  are  cold  and  dreary. 


270  PICTUKES    AND    PALACES. 

The  pavements  of  marble  and  mosaic  are  not  half  so  com- 
fortable as  a  plain  wooden  floor  covered  with  a  carpet. 
There  is  no  gas — they  are  lighted  only  with  candles  ;  while 
the  liberal  supply  of  water  which  we  have  in  our  American 
cities  is  unknown.  A  lady  living  in  one  of  the  grandest 
palaces  in  Borne,  tells  me  that  every  drop  of  water  used  by  her 
family  has  to  be  carried  up  those  tremendous  staircases,  to 
ascend  which  is  almost  like  climbing  the  Leaning  Tower  of 
Pisa.  Of  course  a  bath  is  a  luxury,  and  not,  as  with  us,  an 
universal  comfort.  Nowhere  do  T  find  such  a  supply  of  that 
necessary  element  of  household  cleanliness  and  personal 
health,  as  we  have  in  New  York,  furnished  by  a  river  run- 
ning through  the  heart  of  a  city,  carrying  life,  as  well  as 
luxury,  into  every  dwelling. 

The  English-speaking  race  understand  the  art  of  domestic 
architecture  better  than  any  other  in  the  world.  They  may 
not  build  such  grand  palaces,  but  they  know  how  to  build 
homes.  In  country  houses  we  should  have  to  yield  the  palm 
to  the  tasteful  English  cottages,  but  in  city  houses  I  should 
claim  it  for  America,  for  the  simple  reason  that,  as  our  cities 
are  newer,  there  are  many  improvements  introduced  in  houses 
of  modern  construction  unknown  before. 

When  Prince  Napoleon  was  in  New  York,  he  said  that 
there  was  more  comfort  in  one  of  our  best  houses  than  he 
found  in  the  Palais  Royal  in  Paris.  And  I  can  well  believe 
it.  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  city  in  the  world  where  there  is 
a  greater  number  of  private  dwellings  which  are  more 
thoroughly  comfortable,  well  warmed  and  well  lighted,  well 
ventilated  and  well  drained,  with  hot  and  cold  baths  every- 
where :  surely  such  materials  for  merely  physical  comfort 
never  existed  before.  These  are  luxuries  not  always  found, 
even  in  kings'  palaces. 

But  it  is  not  of  our  rich  city  houses  that  I  make  my  boast, 
but  of  the  tens  of  thousands  of  country  ho  ises,  so  full  of 
comfort,  full  of  sunshine,  and  full  of  peace.     These  are  the 


PICTURES   AND    PALACES.  2fl 

things  which  make  a  nation  happy,  and  which  are   better 
than  the  palaces  of  Yenice  or  of  Borne. 

And  so  the  result  of  all  our  observations  has  been  to  make 
us  contented  with  our  modest  republican  ways.  How  often, 
while  wandering  through  these  marble  halls,  have  I  looked 
away  from  all  this  splendor  to  a  happy  country  beyond  the 
sea,  and  whispered  to  myself, 

H  Mid  pleasures  and  palaces,  wherever  we  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home." 


272  NAPLES. — POMPEII   AND   P^STUM. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

NAPLES. — POMPEII   AND    P.ESTUM. 

Naples,  October  23d. 

"  See  Naples  and  die  1  "  is  an  old  Italian  proverb,  which, 
it  must  be  confessed,  is  putting  it  rather  strongly,  but  which 
still  expresses,  with  pardonable  exaggeration,  the  popular 
sense  of  the  surpassing  beauty  of  this  city  and  its  environs. 
Florence,  lying  in  the  valley  of  the  Arno,  as  seen  from  the 
top  of  Fiesole,  is  a  vision  of  beauty;  but  here,  instead  of  a 
river  flowing  between  narrow  banks,  there  opens  before  us  a 
bay  that  is  like  a  sea,  alive  with  ships,  with  beautiful  islands, 
and  in  the  background  Vesuvius,  with  its  column  of  smoke 
ever  rising  against  the  sky.  The  bay  of  Naples  is  said  to  be 
the  most  beautiful  in  the  world  ;  at  least  its  only  rival  is  in 
another  hemisphere — in  the  bay  of  Rio  Janeiro.  It  must  be 
fifty  miles  in  circuit  (it  is  nineteen  miles  across  from  Naples 
to  Sorrento),  and  the  whole  shore  is  dotted  with  villages,  so 
that  when  lighted  up  at  night,  it  seems  girdled  with  watch- 
fires. 

And  around  this  broad-armed  bay  (as  at  Nice  and  other 
points  along  the  Mediterranean),  Summer  lingers  after  she 
has  left  the  north  of  Italy.  Not  only  vineyards  and  olive 
groves  cover  the  southern  slopes,  but  palm  trees  grow  in  the 
open  air.  Here  the  old  Romans  loved  to  come  and  sun 
themselves  in  this  soft  atmosphere.  On  yonder  island  of 
Capri  are  still  seen  the  ruins  of  a  palace  of  Tiberius ; 
Cicero  had  a  villa  at  Pompeii ;  and  Virgil,  though  born  at 
Mantua,  wished  to  rest  in  death  upon  these  milder  shores, 


NAPLES. — POMPEII   AND   P^ESTUM.  273 

and  here,  at  the  entrance  of  the  grotto  of  Posilippo,  they 
still  point  out  his  tomb. 

In  its  interior  Naples  is  a  great  contrast  to  Rome.  It  is 
not  only  larger  (indeed,  it  is  much  the  largest  city  in  Italy, 
having  half  a  million  of  inhabitants),  but  brighter  and  gayer. 
Rome  is  dark  and  sombre,  always  reminding  one  of  the  long- 
buried  past ;  Naples  seems  to  live  only  in  the  present,  with- 
out a  thought  either  of  the  past  or  of  the  future.  A  friend 
who  came  here  a  day  or  two  before  us,  expressed  the  contrast 
between  the  two  cities  by  saying  energetically,  "  Naples  is 
life  :  Rome  is  death  !  "  Indeed,  we  have  here  a  spectacle  of 
extraordinary  animation.  I  have  seen  somewhere  a  series 
of  pictures  of  "  Street  Scenes  in  Naples,"  and  surely  no  city 
in  Europe  offers  a  greater  variety  of  figures  and  costumes,  as 
rich  and  poor,  princes  and  beggars,  soldiers  and  priests,  jostle 
each  other  in  the  noisy,  laughing  crowd. 

Even  the  poorest  of  the  people  have  something  pictur- 
esque in  their  poverty.  The  lazzaroni  of  Naples  are  well 
known.  They  are  the  lowest  class  of  the  population,  such  as 
may  be  found  in  all  large  cities,  and  which  is  generally  the 
most  disgusting  and  repulsive.  But  here,  owing  to  the  warm 
climate,  they  can  live  out  of  doors,  and  thus  the  rags  and 
dirt,  which  elsewhere  are  hidden  in  garrets  and  cellars,  are 
paraded  in  the  streets,  making  them  like  a  Rag  Fair.  One 
may  see  a  host  of  young  beggars — little  imps,  worthy  sons  of 
their  fathers — lying  on  the  sidewalk,  asleep  in  the  sun,  or 
coolly  picking  the  vermin  from  their  bodies,  or  showing 
their  dexterity  in  holding  aloft  a  string  of  macaroni,  and  let- 
ting it  descend  into  their  mouths,  and  then  running  after 
the  carriage  for  a  penny. 

The  streets  are  very  narrow,  very  crowded,  and  very  noisy. 
From  morning  to  night  they  are  filled  with  people,  and  re- 
sound with  the  cries  of  market-men  and  women,  who  make 
a  perfect  Bedlam.  Little  donkeys,  which  seem  to  be  the 
universal  carryalls,  come  along  laden  with  fruit,  grapes  and 

in* 


271  NAPLES. — POMPEII    AND    PJSSTUM. 

vegetables.  The  loads  put  on  these  poor  beasts  are  quite 
astonishing.  Though  not  much  bigger  than  Newfoundland 
dogs,  each  one  has  two  huge  jmnniers  hung  at  his  sides, 
which  are  filled  with  all.  sorts  of  produce  which  the  peasants 
are  bringing  to  market.  Often  the  poor  little  creature  is  so 
covered  up  that  he  is  hardly  visible  under  his  load,  and  might 
not  be  discovered,  but  that  the  heap  seems  to  be  in  motion, 
and  a  pair  of  long  ears  is  seen  to  project  through  the  super- 
incumbent mass,  and  an  occasional  bray  from  beneath  sounds 
like  a  cry  for  pity. 

The  riding  carts  of  the  laboring  people  also  have  a  power 
of  indefinite  multiplication  of  the  contents  they  carry.  I 
thought  that  an  Irish  jaunting-car  would  hold  about  as  many 
human  creatures  as  anything  that  went  on  wheels,  but  it  is 
quite  surpassed  by  the  country  carts  one  sees  around  Naples, 
in  which  a  mere  rat  of  a  donkey  scuds  along  before  an  inde- 
scribable vehicle,  on  which  half  a  dozen  men  are  stuck  like 
so  many  pegs  (of  course  they  stand,  for  there  is  not  room  for 
them  to  sit),  with  women  also,  and  a  baby  or  two,  and  a  fat 
priest  in  the  bargain,  and  two  or  three  urchins  dangling 
behind  !  Sometimes,  for  convenience,  babies  and  vegetables 
are  packed  in  the  same  basket,  and  swung  below  ! 

With  such  variety  in  the  streets,  one  need  not  go  out  of 
the  city  for  constant  entertainment.  And  yet  the  charm  of 
Naples  is  in  its  environs,  and  one  who  should  spend  a  month 
or  two  here,  might  make  constant  excursions  to  points  along 
the  bay,  which  are  attractive  alike  by  their  natural  beauty 
and  their  historical  interest.  He  may  follow  the  shore  from 
Ischia  clear  around  to  Capri,  and  enjoy  a  succession  of 
beautiful  points,  as  the  shore-line  curves  in  and  out,  now 
running  into  some  sheltered  nook,  where  the  olive  groves 
grow  thick  in  the  southern  sun,  and  then  coming  to  a  head- 
land that  juts  out  into  the  sea.  Eew  things  can  be  more  en- 
chanting than  such  a  ride  along  the  bay  to  Baise  on  one  side 
or  from  Castellamare  to  Sorrento  and  Amalfi,  or  the  other. 


NAPLES. POMPEII   AND    P.ESTUM.  275 

Our  first  visit  was  to  Pompeii,  so  interesting  by  its  melan- 
choly fate,  and  by  the  revelations  of  ancient  life  in  its  recent 
excavations.  It  was  destroyed  in  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius  in 
the  reign  of  Titus,  in  the  year  79,  and  so  completely  was  it 
buried  that  for  seventeen  hundred  years  its  very  site  was  not 
known.  It  was  only  about  the  middle  of  the  last  century 
that  it  was  discovered,  and  not  till  within  a  few  years  that 
excavations  were  prosecuted  with  much  vigor.  Now  the 
city  is  uncovered,  the  roofs  are  taken  off  from  the  houses, 
and  we  can  look  down  into  the  very  homes  of  the  people, 
and  see  the  interior  of  their  dwellings,  and  all  the  details  of 
their  domestic  life. 

We  spent  four  or  five  hours  in  exploring  this  buried  city, 
going  with  a  guide  from  street  to  street,  and  from  house  to 
house.  How  strange  it  seemed  to  walk  over  the  very  pave- 
ments that  were  laid  there  before  our  Saviour  was  born,  the 
stones  still  showing  the  ruts  worn  by  the  wheels  of  Roman 
chariots  two  thousand  years  ago  ! 

We  examined  many  houses  in  detail,  and  found  them, 
while  differing  in  costliness  (some  of  them,  such  as  those  of 
Diomed  and  Sallust  and  Polybius,  being  dwellings  of  the 
rich),  resembling  each  other  in  their  general  arrangement. 
All  seemed  to  be  built  on  an  Oriental  model,  designed  for  a 
hot  climate,  with  a  court  in  the  centre,  where  often  a  foun- 
tain filled  the  air  with  delicious  coolness,  and  lulled  to  rest 
those  who  sought  in  the  rooms  which  opened  on  the  court 
a  retreat  from  the  heat  of  the  summer  noon.  From  this  cen- 
tral point  of  the  house,  one  may  go  through  the  different 
apartments — bedroom,  dining-room,  and  kitchen — and  see  how 
the  people  cooked  their  food,  and  where  they  eat  it ;  where 
they  dined  and  where  they  slept ;  how  they  lay  down  and  how 
they  rose  up.  In  almost  every  house  there  is  a  niche  for  the 
Penates,  or  household  gods,  which  occupied  a  place  in  the 
dwellings  of  the  old  Pompeiians,  such  as  is  given  by  devout 
Catholics  to  images  of  the  Virgin  and  saints,  at  the  present  day. 


276  NAPLES. — POMPEII    AND    P^ESTUM. 

But  that  which  excites  the  greatest  wonder  is  the  decora- 
tions of  the  houses — the  paintings  on  the  walls,  which  in 
their  grace  of  form  and  richness  of  color,  are  sill  subjects  of 
admiration,  and  furnish  many  a  model  to  architects  and  deco- 
rators. A  great  number  of  these  have  been  removed  to  the 
Museum  at  Naples,  where  artists  are  continually  studying 
and  copying  them.  In  this  matter  of  decorative  art,  "Wen- 
dell Phillips  may  well  claim — as  he  does  in  his  eloquent  lec- 
ture on  "  The  Lost  Arts  " — that  there  are  many  things  in 
which  the  ancients,  whether  Romans,  Greeks,  or  Egyptians, 
were  superior  to  the  boastful  moderns. 

Something  of  the  luxury  of  those  times  is  seen  in  the  pub- 
lic baths,  which  are  fitted  up  with  furnaces  for  heating  the 
water,  and  pipes  for  conveying  it,  and  rooms  for  reclining 
and  cooling  one's  self  after  the  bath,  and  other  refinements 
of  luxury,  which  we  had  vainly  conceived  belonged  only  to 
modern  civilization. 

From  the  houses  we  pass  to  the  shops,  and  here  we  find  all 
the  signs  of  active  life,  as  if  the  work  had  been  interrupted 
only  yesterday.  Passing  along  the  street,  one  sees  the  mer- 
chant's store,  the  apothecary's  shop,  and  the  blacksmith's 
forge.  To  be  sure,  the  fire  is  extinguished,  and  the  utensils 
which  have  been  discovered  have  been  carried  off"  to  the 
Museum  at  Naples;  but  it  needs  only  to  light  up  the  coals, 
and  we  might  hear  again  the  ring  on  the  anvils  where  the 
hammer  fell,  struck  by  hands  that  have  been  dust  for  centu- 
ries. And  here  is  a  bakery,  with  all  the  implements  of  the 
trade  :  the  stone  mills  standing  in  their  place  for  grinding 
the  corn  (is  it  not  said  that  "  two  shall  be  grinding  at  the 
mill ;  one  shall  be  taken  and  the  other  left  "  ?) ;  the  vessels 
for  the  flour  and  for  water,  the  trough  for  kneading  the  bread, 
and  the  oven  for  baking — long  brick  ovens  they  are,  just  like 
those  in  which  our  New  England  mothers  are  wont  to  bake 
their  Thanksgiving  pies.  Nay,  we  have  some  of  the  bread 
that  was  baked,  loaves  of  which  are  still  preserved,  charred 


NAPLES. — POMPEII    AND    P^ESTUM.  277 

and  blackened  by  the  fire,  and  possibly  might  be  eaten,  although 
the  bread  is  decidedly  well  done. 

Of  course,  the  most  imposing  structures  that  have  been 
uncovered  are  the  public  buildings  in  the  Forum  and  else- 
where— the  basilica  for  the  administration  of  justice;  the 
theatres  for  games ;  and  the  temples  for  the  worship  of  the 
gods. 

I  was  curious  as  to  the  probable  loss  of  life  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  city,  and  conclude  that  it  was  not  very  great  in 
proportion  to  the  population.  We  have  no  means  of  know- 
ing exactly  the  number  of  inhabitants.  Murray's  Guide 
Book  says  30,000,  but  a  careful  measurement  shows  that  not 
more  than  12,000  could  have  been  within  the  walls,  while 
perhaps  as  many  more  were  outside  of  it.  As  yet  there  have 
been  discovered  not  more  than  six  hundred  skeletons  ;  so 
that  it  is  probable  that  the  greater  number  made  their  escape. 

But  even  these — though  few  compared  with  the  whole — 
are  enough  to  disclose,  by  their  attitudes,  the  suffering  and 
the  agony  of  their  terrible  fate.  From  their  postures,  it  is 
plain  that  the  inhabitants  were  seized  with  mortal  terror 
when  destruction  came  upon  them.  Many  were  found  with 
their  bodies  prone  on  the  earth,  who  had  evidently  thrown 
themselves  down,  and  buried  their  faces  in  their  hands,  as  if 
to  hide  from  their  eyes  the  danger  that  was  in  the  air.  Some 
tried  to  escape  with  their  treasures.  In  one  house  five  skel- 
etons were  found,  with  bracelets  and  rings  of  gold,  silver,  and 
bronze,  lying  on  the  pavement.  A  woman  was  found  with 
four  rings  on  one  of  her  fingers,  set  with  precious  stones, 
with  gold  bracelets  and  earrings  and  pieces  of  money.  Per- 
haps her  avarice  or  her  vanity  proved  her  destruction.  But 
the  hardest  fate  was  that  of  those  who  could  not  fly,  as  cap- 
tives chained  in  their  dungeons.  Three  skeletons  were  found 
in  a  prison,  with  the  manacles  still  on  their  fleshless  hands. 
Even  dumb  beasts  shared  in  the  general  catastrophe.  The 
horse  that  had  lost  its  rider  pawed  and  neighed  in  vain;  and 


278  NAPLES. — POMPEII    AND    PjESTUM. 

the  dog  that  howled  at  his  master's  gate,  but  would  not  leave 
him,  shared  his  fate.  The  skeletons  of  both  are  still 
preserved. 

Altogether,  the  most  vivid  account  which  has  been  given 
of  the  overthrow  of  the  city,  is  by  the  English  novelist,  Bul- 
wer,  in  his  "  Last  Days  of  Pompeii."  He  pictures  a  great 
crowd  collected  for  gladiatorial  combats.  That  the  people 
had  these  cruel  sports,  is  shown  by  the  amphitheatre  which 
remains  to  this  day  ;  and  the  greatest  number  of  skeletons 
in  any  one  spot  was  thirty-six,  in  a  building  for  the 
training  of  gladiators.  In  the  amphitheatre,  according  to 
the  novelist,  the  people  were  assembled  when  the  destruc- 
tion came.  The  lion  had  been  let  loose,  but  more  sensi- 
tive than  man  to  the  strange  disturbance  in  the  elements, 
crept  round  the  arena,  instead  of  bounding  on  his  prey,  los- 
ing his  natural  ferocity  in  the  sense  of  terror.  Beasts  in  the 
dens  below  filled  the  air  with  howls,  till  the  assembly,  roused 
from  the  eager  excitement  of  the  combat,  at  length  looked 
upward,  and  in  the  darkening  sky  above  them  read  the  sign 
of  their  approaching  doom. 

But  no  high-wrought  description  can  add  to  the  actual 
terror  of  that  day,  as  recounted  by  historians.  There  are 
some  things  which  cannot  be  overdrawn,  and  even  Bulwer 
does  not  present  to  the  imagination  a  greater  scene  of  horror 
than  the  plain  narrative  of  the  younger  Pliny,  who  was  him- 
self a  witness  of  the  destruction  of  Pompeii  from  the  bay, 
and  whose  uncle,  advancing  nearer  to  get  a  better  view, 
perished. 

A  city  which  has  had  such  a  fate,  and  which,  after  being 
buried  for  so  many  centuries,  is  now  disentombed,  deserves 
a  careful  memorial,  which  shall  comprise  both  an  authentic 
historical  account  of  its  overthrow,  with  a  detailed  report  of 
the  recent  discoveries.  We  are  glad,  therefore,  to  meet  here 
a  countryman  of  ours  who  has  taken  the  matter  in  hand, 
and  is  fully  competent  for  the  task.     Rev.  J.  C.  Fletcher, 


NAPLES. — POMPEII    AND   P^STUM.  279 

who  is  well  known  in  America  as  the  author  of  a  work 
on  Brazil,  which  is  as  entertaining  as  it  is  instructive,  has 
been  residing  two  years  in  Naples,  preparing  for  the  Harpers 
a  work  on  Pompeii,  which  cannot  fail  to  be  of  great  interest, 
and  to  which  we  look  forward  as  the  most  valuable  account 
we  shall  have  of  this  long-buried  city. 

Another  excursion  of  almost  equal  interest  was  to  P^estum, 
some  fifty  miles  below  Naples,  the  ruins  of  which  are  second 
only  to  those  of  the  Parthenon.  It  is  an  excursion  which 
requires  two  days,  and  which  we  accordingly  divided.  We 
went  first  to  Sorrento,  on  the  southern  shore  of  the  bay,  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  spots  around  Naples,  a  kind  of  eyrie, 
or  eagle's  nest,  perched  on  the  cliff,  and  looking  off  upon  the 
glittering  waters.  Here  we  were  joined  by  a  German  lady 
and  her  daughter,  whom  we  had  met  before  in  Florence  and 
in  Pome,  and  who  are  to  be  our  travelling  companions  in  the 
East ;  and  who  added  much  to  our  pleasure  as  we  picnicked 
the  next  day  in  the  Temple  of  Neptune.  "With  our  party 
thus  doubled  we  rode  along  the  shore  over  that  most  beauti- 
ful drive  from  Sorrento  to  Castellamare,  and  went  on  to 
Salerno  to  pass  the  night,  from  which  the  excursion  to  Psbs- 
tum  is  easily  made  the  next  day. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  interest  of  this  excursion,  it 
has  been  made  less  frequently  than  it  would  have  been  but 
for  the  fact  that,  until  quite  recently,  the  road  has  been 
infested  by  brigands,  who  had  an  unpleasant  habit  of  starting 
up  by  the  roadside  with  blunderbusses  in  their  hands,  and 
assisting  you  to  alight  from  the  carriage,  and  taking  you  for 
an  excursion  into  the  mountains,  from  which  a  message  was 
sent  to  your  friends  in  Naples,  that  on  the  deposit  of  a  thousand 
pounds  or  so  at  a  certain  place  you  would  be  returned  safely. 
If  friends  were  a  little  slow  in  taking  this  hint,  and  coming 
to  the  rescue,  sometimes  an  ear  of  the  unfortunate  captive 
was  cut  off  and  sent  to  the  city  as  a  gentle  reminder  of  what 
awaited  him  if  the  money  was  not  forthcoming  immediately. 


280  NAPLES. — rOMPEII    AND    P.ESTUM. 

Of  course,  it  did  not  need  many  such  warnings  to  squeeze 
the  last  drop  of  blood  out  of  friends,  who  eagerly  drained 
themselves  to  save  a  kinsman,  who  had  fallen  into  the  jaws 
of  the  lion,  from  a  horrible  fate. 

That  these  were  not  idle  tales  told  to  frighten  travellers, 
we  had  abundant  evidence.  Within  a  very  few  years  there 
have  been  repeated  adventures  of  the  kind.  An  English 
gentleman  whom  we  met  at  Salerno,  who  had  lived  some 
forty  years  in  this  part  of  Italy,  told  us  that  the  stories  were 
not  at  all  exaggerated ;  that  one  gang  of  bandits  had  their 
headquarters  but  half  a  mile  from  his  house,  and  that  when 
c-iptured  they  confessed  that  they  had  often  lain  in  wait  for 
liim  ! 

These  pleasing  reminiscences  gave  a  cheerful  zest  to  the 
prospect  of  our  journey  on  the  morrow,  although  at  present 
there  is  little  danger.  Since  the  advent  of  Victor  Emmanuel, 
brigandage,  like  a  good  many  other  institutions  of  the  old 
regime,  has  been  got  rid  of.  Our  English  friend  last  saw 
his  former  neighbors,  as  he  was  riding  in  a  carriage,  and 
three  of  them  passed  him,  going  to  be  shot.  Since  then  the 
danger  has  been  removed ;  and  still  it  gives  one  a  little 
excitement  to  drive  where  such  incidents  were  common  only  a 
few  years  ago,  and  even  now  it  is  not  at  all  disagreeable  to 
see  soldiers  stationed  at  different  points  along  the  road. 

Though  brigandage  has  passed  away  here,  like  many  an- 
other relic  of  the  good  old  times,  it  still  flourishes  in  Sicily, 
where  all  efforts  to  extirpate  it  have  as  yet  proved  unsuc- 
cessful, and  where  one  who  is  extremely  desirous  of  a  little 
adventure,  may  find  it  without  going  far  outside  the  walls  of 
Palermo. 

But  we  will  not  stop  to  waste  words  on  brigands,  when 
we  nave  before  us  the  ruins  of  Prestum.  As  we  drive  over  a 
long,  level  road,  we  see  in  the  distance  the  columns  of  great 
temples  rising  over  the  plain,  not  far  from  the  sea.  They 
are  perhaps  more  impressive  because  standing  alone,  not  in 


NAPLES. POMPEII   AND    P^STUM.  281 

the  midst  of  a  populous  city  like  the  Parthenon,  with  Athens 
at  its  base,  but  like  Tadmor  in  the  wilderness,  solitary  and 
desolate,  a  wonder  and  a  mystery.  Except  the  custodian  of 
the  place  there  was  not  a  human  creature  there  ;  nor  a 
sound  to  be  heard  save  the  cawing  of  crows  that  flew  among 
the  columns,  and  lighted  on  the  roof.  In  such  silence  we 
approached  these  vast  remains  of  former  ages.  The  builders  of 
these  mighty  temples  have  vanished,  and  no  man  knows  even 
their  names.  It  is  not  certain  by  whom  they  were  erected. 
It  is  supposed  by  a  Greek  colony  that  landed  on  the  shores 
of  Southern  Italy,  and  there  founded  cities  and  built  temples 
at  least  six  hundred  years  before  the  Christian  era.  The 
style  of  architecture  points  to  a  Greek  origin.  The  huge  col- 
umns, without  any  base,  and  with  the  plain  Doric  capitals, 
show  the  same  hands  that  reared  the  Parthenon.  But  who- 
ever they  were,  there  were  giants  in  the  earth  in  those  days  ; 
and  the  Cyclopean  architecture  they  have  left  puts  to  shame 
the  pigmy  constructions  of  modern  times.  How  small  it  makes 
one  feel  to  compare  his  own  few  years  with  these  hoary  monu- 
ments of  the  past !  So  men  pass  away,  and  their  names  per- 
ish, even  though  the  structures  they  have  builded  may  survive 
a  few  hundred,  or  a  few  thousand  years.  What  lessons  on  the 
greatness  and  littleness  of  man  have  been  read  under  the 
shadow  of  these  giant  columns.  Hither  came  Augustus,  in 
whose  reign  Christ  was  born,  to  visit  ruins  that  were  ancient 
even  in  his  day.  Here,  where  a  Caesar  stood  two  thousand 
years  ago,  the  traveller  from  another  continent  (though  not 
from  New  Zealand)  stands  to-day,  to  muse-  -at  Psestum,  as  at 
Pompeii — on  the  fate  which  overtakes  all  human  things,  and 
at  last  whelms  man  and  his  works  in  one  undistinguishable 


282  THE   ASCENT    OF   VESUVIUS. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   ASCENT    OF   VESUVIUS. 

November  Ink 

Our  excursion  to  Vesuvius  was  delayed  for  some  days  to 
await  the  arrival  of  the  Franklin,  which  was  to  bring  us  the 
lieutenant  who  was  our  travelling  companion  in  Germany 
last  summer,  and  who  wished  to  make  the  ascent  in  our  com- 
pany. At  length,  on  Thursday,  the  firing  of  heavy  guns  told 
us  that  the  great  ship  was  coming  into  the  harbor,  and  we 
were  soon  on  board,  where  we  received  a  most  hearty  wel- 
come, not  only  from  our  kinsman,  but  from  all  the  officers. 
The  Franklin  is  the  Flag-ship  of  our  European  squadron,  and 
bears  the  flag  of  Admiral  John  L.  Worden,  the  gallant  offi- 
cer whose  courage  and  skill  in  fighting  the  Monitor  against 
the  Merrimack  in  Hampton  Roads  in  1862,  saved  the  country 
in  an  hour  of  imminent  peril.  Well  do  we  remember  the  ter- 
ror in  New  York  caused  by  the  tidings  of  the  sinking  of  the 
Congress  and  the  Cumberland  by  that  first  ironclad — a  new 
sea  monster  whose  powers  of  destruction  were  unknown,  and 
which  we  expected  to  see  within  a  week  sailing  up  our  harbor, 
and  demanding  the  surrender  of  the  city.  From  this  and 
other  dangers,  which  we  shudder  to  contemplate,  we  were  saved 
by  the  little  Monitor  on  that  eventful  day.  As  Admiral 
Worden  commands  only  the  fleet,  the  ship  is  commanded  by 
an  officer  who  bears  the  same  honored  name  as  the  ship  itself 
— Captain  Franklin.  We  were  very  proud  to  see  such  men, 
surrounded  by  a  fine  set  of  officers,  representing  our  country 
here.  As  we  made  frequent  visits  to  the  ship,  we  came  to 
feel  quite  at  home  there.     Not  the  least  pleasant  part  of 


THE  ASCENT  OF  VESUVIUS.  283 

these  visits  was  to  meet  several  American  ladies — the  wife 
and  daughters  of  Admiral  Worden,  and  the  wife  of  Captain 
Franklin.  Men  who  have  rendered  distinguished  services 
to  their  country  are  certainly  entitled  to  a  little  domestic 
comfort  on  their  long  voyages ;  while  the  presence  of  such 
ladies  is  a  benefit  to  all  on  board.  When  men  are  alone, 
whether  in  camp  or  on  a  ship,  they  are  apt  to  become  a  little 
rough,  and  the  mere  presence  of  a  noble  woman  has  a  refin- 
ing influence  over  them.  I  can  see  it  here  in  these  young 
officers,  who  all  seem  to  have  a  chivalrous  feeling  towards 
these  ladies,  who  remind  them  of  their  own  mothers  and  sis- 
ters at  home.  A  more  happy  family  I  have  not  met  on  land 
or  sea. 

To  their  company  we  are  indebted  for  much  of  the  pleasure 
of  our  excursion  to  Vesuvius.  On  Saturday  a  large  party 
was  made  up  from  the  ship,  which  included  the  family  of 
Admiral  Worden,  Captain  and  Mrs.  Franklin,  and  half  a 
dozen  lieutenants.  Our  excellent  consul  at  Naples,  Mr. 
Duncan,  and  his  sister,  were  also  with  us.  We  filled  four 
carriages,  and  away  we  went  through  the  streets  of  Naples  at 
a  furious  rate  ;  sweeping  around  the  bay  (along  which,  as  we 
looked  through  arched  passages  to  the  right,  we  could  see 
villas  and  gardens  stretching  down  to  the  waters),  till  we 
reached  Resina,  which  stands  on  the  site  of  buried  Hercu- 
lanenm.  Here  we  turned  to  the  left,  and  began  the  ascent. 
And  now  we  found  it  well  that  our  drivers  had  harnessed 
three  stout  horses  abreast  to  each  carriage,  as  we  had  a  hard 
climb  upward  along  the  blackened  sides  of  the  mountain. 

We  soon  perceived  the  wide-spread  ruin  wrought  by  suc- 
cessive eruptions  of  the  volcano.  Over  all  this  mountain 
side  had  rolled  a  deluge  of  fire,  and  on  every  hand  were 
strewn  the  wrecks  of  the  mighty  desolation.  It  seemed  as  if 
a  destroying  angel  had  passed  over  the  earth,  blasting  wher- 
ever his  shadow  fell.  On  either  side  stretched  miles  and 
miles  of  lava,  which  had  flowed  here  and  there  slowly  and 


284  THE    ASCENT   OP   VESUVIUS. 

sluggishly  like  molten  iron,  turning  when  interrupted  in  its 
course,  and  twisted  into  a  thousand  shapes. 

But  if  this  was  a  terrible  sight,  there  was  something  to 
relieve  the  eye,  as  we  looked  away  in  the  distance  to  where 
the  smile  of  God  still  rests  on  an  unsmitten  world.  As  we 
mounted  higher,  we  commanded  a  wider  view,  and  surely 
never  was  there  a  more  glorious  panorama  than  that  which 
was  unrolled  at  our  feet  on  that  October  morning.  There 
was  the  bay  of  Naples,  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  with  the 
beautiful  islands  of  Ischia  and  Capri  lying,  like  guardian  for- 
tresses, off  its  mouth,  and  ships  coming  and  going  to  all 
parts  of  the  Mediterranean.  What  an  image  was  presented 
in  that  one  view  of  the  contrasts  in  our  human  life  between 
sunshine  and  shadow — blooming  fields  on  one  hand,  and  a 
blackened  waste  on  the  other ;  above,  a  region  swept  by  fire, 
and  below,  gardens  and  vineyards,  and  cities  and  villages, 
smiling  in  peace  and  security. 

We  had  left  Naples  at  nine  o'clock,  but  it  was  noon  before 
we  reached  the  Observatory — a  station  which  the  Italian 
Government  has  established  on  the  side  of  the  mountain  for 
the  purpose  of  making  meteorological  observations.  This  is 
the  limit  to  which  carriages  can  ascend,  and  here  we  rested 
for  an  hour.  Our  watchful  lieutenants  had  thoughtfully  pro- 
vided a  substantial  lunch,  which  the  steward  spread  in  a  little 
garden  overlooking  the  bay,  and  there  assembled  as  merry  a 
group  of  Americans  as  ever  gathered  on  the  sides  of  Vesuvius. 

From  the  Observatory,  those  who  would  spare  any  unneces- 
sary fatigue  may  take  mules  a  mile  farther  to  the  foot  of  the 
cone,  but  our  party  preferred  the  excitement  of  the  walk 
after  our  long  ride.  In  ascending  the  cone,  no  four-footed 
beast  is  of  any  service ;  one  must  depend  on  his  own  strong 
limbs,  unless  he  chooses  to  accept  the  aid  of  some  of  the  fierce- 
looking  attendants  who  offer  their  services  as  porters.  A 
lady  may  take  a  chair,  and  for  forty  francs  be  carried  quite 
to  the  top  on  the  shoulders  of  four  stout  fellows.     But  the 


THE  ASCENT  OF  VESUVIUS.  285 

more  common  way  is  to  take  two  assistants,  one  to  go  forward 
who  drags  you  up  by  a  strap  attached  around  his  waist,  to 
which  you  hold  fast  for  dear  life,  while  another  pushes  behind. 
Our  young  lady  had  three  escorts.  She  drove  a  handsome 
team  of  two  ahead,  while  a  third  lubberly  fellow  was  trying 
to  make  himself  useful,  or,  at  least,  to  earn  his  money,  by 
putting  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  and  thus  urging  her  for- 
ward. I  believe  I  was  the  only  person  of  the  party,  except 
the  Consul  and  one  lieutenant,  who  went  up  without  assist- 
ance. I  took  a  man  at  first,  rather  to  get  rid  of  his  impor- 
tunity, but  he  gave  out  sooner  than  I  did,  stopping  after  a 
few  rods  to  demand  more  money,  whereupon  I  threw  him  off 
in  disgust,  and  made  the  ascent  alone.  But  I  would  not 
recommend  others  to  follow  my  example,  as  the  fatigue  is 
really  very  great,  especially  to  one  unused  to  mountain  climb- 
ing. Not  only  is  the  cone  very  steep,  but  it  is  covered  with 
ashes ;  so  that  one  has  no  firm  hold  for  his  feet,  but  sinks 
deep  at  every  step.  Thus  he  makes  slow  progress,  and  is  soon 
out  of  breath.  He  can  only  keep  on  by  going  very  slowly.  I 
had  to  stop  every  few  minutes,  and  throw  myself  down  in 
the  ashes,  to  rest.  But  with  these  little  delays,  I  kept 
steadily  mounting  higher  and  higher. 

As  we  neared  the  top,  the  presence  of  the  volcano  became 
manifest,  not  merely  from  the  cloud  which  always  hangs 
about  it,  but  by  smoke  issuing  from  many  places  at  the  side. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  mountain  were  a  vast  smouldering  heap 
out  of  which  the  internal  heat  forced  its  way  through  every 
aperture.  Here  and  there  a  long  line  of  smoke  seemed  to 
indicate  a  subterranean  fissure  or  vein,  through  which  the 
pent-up  fires  forced  their  way.  As  we  crossed  these  lines  of 
smoke  the  sulphurous  fumes  were  stifling,  especially  when 
the  wind  blew  them  in  our  faces. 

But  at  last  all  difficulties  were  conquered,  and  we  stood  on 
the  very  top,  and  looked  over  the  awful  verge  into  the  crater. 

Those  who  have  never  seen  a  volcano  are  apt  to  picture  it 


286  THE    ASCENT    OF   VESUVIUS. 

as  a  tall  peak,  a  slender  cone,  like  a  sugar  loaf,  with  a  round 
aperture  at  the  top,  like  the  chimney  of  a  blast  furnace,  out 
of  v  hich  issues  fire  and  smoke.  Something  of  this  indeed 
there  is,  but  the  actual  scene  is  vastly  greater  and  grander. 
For,  instead  of  a  small  round  opening,  like  the  throat  of  a 
chimney,  large  enough  for  one  flaming  column,  the  crater  is 
nearly  half  a  mile  across,  and  many  hundreds  of  feet  deep ; 
and  one  looks  down  into  a  yawning  gulf,  a  vast  chasm  in  the 
mountain,  whose  rocky  sides  are  yellow  with  sulphur,  and 
out  of  which  the  smoke  issues  from  different  places.  At 
times  it  is  impossible  to  see  anything,  as  dense  volumes  of 
smoke  roll  upward,  which  the  wind  drives  toward  us,  so  that 
we  are  ourselves  lost  in  the  cloud.  Then  they  drift  away, 
and  for  an  instant  we  can  see  far  down  into  the  bowels  of  the 
earth. 

Standing  on  the  bald  head  of  Vesuvius,  one  cannot  help 
some  grave  reflections,  looking  at  what  is  before  him  only 
from  the  point  of  view  of  a  man  of  science.  The  eruption 
of  a  volcano  is  one  of  the  most  awful  scenes  in  nature,  and 
makes  one  shudder  to  think  of  the  elements  of  destruction 
that  are  imprisoned  in  the  rocky  globe.  What  desolation 
has  been  wrought  by  Vesuvius  alone — how  it  has  thrown  up 
mountains,  laid  waste  fields,  and  buried  cities  !  What  a 
spectacle  has  it  often  presented  to  the  terrified  inhabitants 
of  Naples,  as  it  has  shot  up  a  column  not  only  of  smoke,  but 
of  fire  !  The  flames  have  often  risen  to  the  height  of  a 
mile  above  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  their  red  blaze 
lighting  up  the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  casting  a  glare 
over  the  waters  of  the  bay,  while  the  earth  was  moaning  and 
trembling,  as  if  in  pain  and  fear. 

And  the  forces  that  have  wrought  such  destruction  are 
active  still.  For  two  thousand  years  this  volcano  has  been 
smoking,  and  yet  it  is  not  exhausted.  Its  fury  is  still 
unspent.  Far  down  in  the  heart  of  the  earth  still  glow  the 
eternal  fires.     This  may  give  some  idea  of  the  terrific  forces 


THE  ASCENT  OF  VESUVIUS.  287 

that  are  at  work  in  the  interior  of  the  hollow  globe,  while  it 
suggests  at  least  the  possibility  of  a  final  catastrophe,  which 
shall  prove  the  destruction  of  the  planet  itself. 

But  if  the  spectacle  be  thus  suggestive  and  threatening  to 
the  man  of  science,  it  speaks  still  more  distinctly  to  one  who 
has  been  accustomed  to  think  that  a  time  is  coming  when 
"  the  earth,  being  on  fire,  shall  be  dissolved,  and  the  elements 
shall  melt  with  fervent  heat,"  and  who  beholds  in  these 
ascending  flames  the  prophetic  symbol  of  the  Dies  Irse  —the 
Day  of  Doom — that  shall  at  last  end  the  long  tragedy  of 
man's  existence  on  the  earth. 

As  I  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  crater  and  looked  down  into 
the  awful  depths  below,  it  seemed  as  if  I  beheld  a  scene  such 
as  might  have  inspired  the  description  of  Dante  in  his 
Inferno,  or  of  John  in  the  Apocalypse ;  as  if  that  dread 
abyss  were  no  unfit  symbol  of  the  u  lower  deep  "  into  which 
sink  lost  human  souls.  That  "  great  gulf "  was  as  the 
Valley  of  Hell ;  its  rocky  sides,  yellow  with  sulphurous 
flames — how  glistening  and  slippery  they  looked  ! — told  of  a 
"  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone  "  seething  and  boiling  below ; 
those  yawning  caverns  which  were  disclosed  as  the  smoke 
drifted  away,  were  the  abodes  of  despair,  and  the  winds  that 
moaned  and  shrieked  around  were  the  wailings  of  the  lost ; 
while  the  pillar  of  cloud  which  is  always  rising  from  beneath, 
which  "  ceases  not  day  nor  night,"  was  as  il  the  smoke  of 
torment,"  forever  ascending. 

He  must  be  a  dull  preacher  who  could  not  find  a  lesson  in 
that  awful  scene ;  or  see  reflected  in  it  the  dangers  to  which 
he  himself  is  exposed.  Fire  is  the  element  of  destruction, 
even  more  than  water.  The  "  cruel,  crawling  foam  "  of  the 
sea,  that  comes  creeping  towards  us  to  seize  and  to  destroy, 
is  not  so  treacherous  as  the  flames,  darting  out  like  serpents' 
tongues,  that  come  creeping  upward  from  the  abyss,  licking 
the  very  stones  at  our  feet,  and  that  seem  eager  to  lick  up 
our  blood. 


288  THE    ASCENT    OF   VESUVIUS. 

The  point  where  we  stood  projected  over  the  crater.  The 
great  eruption  three  years  since  had  torn  away  half  the  cone 
of  the  mountain,  and  now  there  hung  above  it  a  ledge,  which 
seemed  ready  at  any  moment  to  break  and  fall  into  the  gulf 
below.  As  I  stood  on  that  "  perilous  edge,"  the  crumbling 
verge  of  the  volcano,  I  seemed  to  be  in  the  position  of  a 
human  being  exposed  to  dangers  vast  and  unseen,  to  powers 
which  blind  and  smother  and  destroy.  As  if  Nature  would 
fix  this  lesson,  by  an  image  never  to  be  forgotten,  the  sun 
that  Avas  declining  in  the  west,  suddenly  burst  out  of  the 
cloud,  and  cast  my  own  shadow  on  the  column  of  smoke  that 
was  rising  from  below.  That  shadowy  form,  standing  in  the 
air,  now  vanishing,  and  then  reappearing  with  every  flash 
of  sunlight,  seemed  no  inapt  image  of  human  life,  a  thing  of 
shadow,  floating  in  a  cloud,  and  hovering  over  an  abyss  ! 

Thus  musing,  I  lingered  on  the  summit  to  the  last,  for  such 
was  the  fascination  of  the  scene  that  I  could  not  tear  myself 
away,  and  it  was  not  till  all  were  gone,  and  I  found  myself 
quite  alone,  that  I  turned  and  followed  them  down  the  moun- 
tain side.  The  descent  is  as  rapid  as  the  ascent  is  slow.  A 
few  minutes  do  the  work  of  hours,  as  one  plunges  down  the 
ashy  cone,  and  soon  our  whole  party  were  reassembled  at  its 
base.  It  was  five  o'clock  when  we  took  our  carriages  at  the 
Observatory ;  and  quite  dark  before  we  got  down  the  moun- 
tain, so  that  men  with  lighted  torches  (long  sticks  of  pine, 
like  those  with  which  travellers  make  their  way  through  the 
darkness  of  American  forests),  had  to  go  before  us  to  show 
the  road,  and  with  such  flaring  flambeaux,  and  much  shouting 
of  men  and  boys,  of  guides  and  drivers,  we  came  rolling  down 
the  sides  of  Vesuvius,  and  a  little  after  seven  o'clock  were 
again  rattling  through  the  streets  of  Naples. 

Yesterday  was  our  last  day  in  this  city,  as  we  leave  this 
afternoon  for  Athens  and  Constantinople,  and  as  it  was  the 
Sabbath,  we  went  on  board  the  Franklin  for  a  religious  ser- 
vice.     Such  a  service  is  always  very  grateful  to  an  American 


THE   ASCENT   OF   VESUVIUS.  289 

far  from  home.  The  deck  of  an  American  ship  is  like  a  part 
of  his  country,  a  floating  island,  anchored  for  the  moment 
to  a  foreign  shore :  and  as  he  stands  there,  and  sees  around 
him  the  faces  of  countrymen,  and  hears,  instead  of  the  lan- 
guage of  strangers,  his  dear  old  mother  tongue,  and  looks  up 
and  sees  floating  above  him  the  flag  he  loves  so  well — that 
has  been  through  so  many  battles  and  storms — he  cannot 
keep  down  a  trembling  in  his  heart,  or  the  tears  from  his 
eyes. 

And  how  delightful  it  is,  on  such  a  spot,  and  with  such  a 
company,  to  join  in  religious  worship.  The  Franklin  has  an 
excellent  chaplain — one  who  commands  the  respect  of  all  on 
board  by  his  consistent  life,  though  without  any  cant  or 
affectation,  while  his  uniform  kindness  and  sympathy  win 
their  hearts.  The  service  was  held  on  the  gun-deck,  where 
officers  and  men  were  assembled,  sitting  as  they  could,  between 
the  cannon.  The  band  played  one  or  two  sacred  airs,  and 
the  chaplain  read  the  service  with  his  deep,  rich  voice, 
after  which  it  was  my  privilege  to  preach  to  this  novel  con- 
gregation of  my  countrymen.  Altogether  the  occasion  was 
one  of  very  peculiar  interest  to  me,  and  I  hope  it  was  equally 
so  to  others. 

And  so  we  took  leave  of  the  Franklin,  with  most  grate- 
ful memories  of  the  kindness  of  all,  from  the  Admiral  down. 
It  is  pleasant  to  see  such  a  body  of  officers  on  board  of 
one  of  our  national  ships.  None  can  realize,  except  those 
who  travel  abroad,  how  much  of  the  good  name  of  our  coun- 
try is  entrusted  to  the  keeping  of  such  men.  They  go  every- 
where, they  appear  in  every  port  of  Europe  and  indeed  of 
the  world ;  they  are  instantly  recognized  by  their  uniform, 
and  are  regarded,  much  more  than  ordinary  travellers,  as  the 
representatives  of  our  country.  How  pleasant  it  is  to  find 
them  uniformly  gentlemen — courteous  and  dignified,  preserv- 
ing their  self-respect,  while  showing  proper  respect  to  others. 
I  am  proud  to  see  such  a  generation  of  young  officers  coming 
13 


290  THE   ASCENT   OP   VESUVIUS. 

on  the  stage,  and  trust  it  may  always  be  said  of  them,  that 
(taking  example  from  the  gallant  captains  and  admirals  who 
are  now  the  pride  of  our  American  Navy,)  they  are  as  modest 
as  they  are  brave.  Such  be  the  men  to  carry  the  starry  flag 
around  th3  globe ! 


GREECE   AND    ITS   YOUNG  KING.  291 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

GREECE   AND    ITS   YOUNG   KING. 

Athens,  November  9th. 

If  the  best  proof  of  our  fondness  for  a  place  be  that  we 
leave  it  with  regret,  few  cities  will  stand  higher  in  onr 
remembrance  than  Naples,  from  which  we  turned  away  with 
many  a  lingering  look,  as  we  waved  our  adieus  to  our  friends, 
who  answered  us  from  the  deck  of  the  Franklin.  Never  did 
the  bay  look  more  beautiful  than  that  Monday  afternoon,  as 
we  sailed  away  by  Capri  and  Sorrento,  and  Amain  and  the 
Bay  of  Salerno.  The  sea  was  calm,  the  sky  was  fair.  The 
coast,  with  its  rocky  headlands  and  deeply  indented  bays, 
was  in  full  sight,  while  behind  rose  the  Apennines.  The 
friends  were  with  us  who  were  to  be  our  companions  in  the 
East,  adding  to  our  animation  by  their  own,  as  we  sat  upon 
the  deck  till  the  evening  drew  on.  As  the  sun  went  down, 
it  cast  such  a  light  over  the  sea,  that  the  ship  seemed  to  be 
swimming  in  glory,  as  we  floated  along  the  beautiful  Italian 
shores.  A  little  before  morning  we  passed  through  the 
Straits  of  Messina,  between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  leav- 
ing Mount  Etna  on  our  right,  and  then  for  an  hour  or  two 
stood  off  the  coast  of  Calabria,  till  we  ran  out  of  sight 
of  land,  into  the  open  sea  of  the  Mediterranean. 

Wednesday  found  us  among  the  Ionian  islands,  and  we 
soon  came  in  sight  of  the  Morea,  a  part  of  the  mainland  of 
Greece.  We  had  been  told  to  watch,  as  we  approached 
Athens,  for  sunset  on  the  Parthenon  ;  but  it  was  not  till  long 
after  dark  that  we  entered  the  harbor  of  the  Piraeus,  and  saw 
the  lights  on  the  shore,  and  our  tirst  experience  was  anything 


292  GREECE    AND    ITS   YOUNG   KING. 

but  romantic.  At  ten  o'clock  we  were  cast  ashore,  in  dark- 
ness and  in  rain  ;  so  that  instead  of  feeling  any  inspiration,  we 
felt  only  that  we  were  very  wet  and  very  cold.  While  the 
commissionaire  went  to  call  a  carriage,  we  waited  for  a  few 
moments  in  a  cafe,  which  was  filled  with  Greek  soldiers  who 
were  drinking  and  smoking,  and  looked  more  like  brigands 
than  the  lawful  defenders  of  life  and  property.  Such  was 
our  introduction  to  the  classic  soil  of  Greece.  But  the 
scene  was  certainly  picturesque  enough  to  satisfy  our  young 
spirits  (for  I  have  two  such  now  in  charge),  who  are  always 
looking  out  for  adventures.  Soon  the  carriage  came,  and 
splashing  through  the  mud,  we  drove  to  Athens,  and  at  mid- 
night found  a  most  welcome  rest  in  our  hotel. 

But  sunrise  clears  away  the  darkness,  and  we  look  out  of 
our  balcony  on  a  pleasant  prospect.  We  are  in  the  Hotel 
Grande  Bretagne,  facing  the  principal  square,  and  adjoining 
the  Royal  Palace,  in  front  of  which  the  band  comes  to  play 
under  the  King's  windows  every  day.  Before  us  rises  a 
rocky  hill,  which  we  know  at  once  to  be  the  Acropolis,  as  it 
is  strown  with  ruins,  and  crowned  with  the  columns  of  a 
great  temple,  which  can  be  no  other  than  the  Parthenon. 

Turning  around  the  horizon,  the  view  is  less  attractive. 
The  hills  are  bleak  and  bare,  masses  of  rock  covered  with  a 
scanty  vegetation.  This  desolate  appearance  is  the  result  of 
centuries  of  neglect;  for  in  ancient  times  (if  I  have  read 
aright),  the  plain  of  Athens  was  a  paradise  of  fertility,  and 
where  not  laid  out  in  gardens,  was  dense  with  foliage. 
Stately  trees  stood  in  many  a  grove  besides  that  of  the  Acad- 
emy, while  the  mountains  around  "  waved  like  Lebanon." 
But  nature  seems  to  have  dwindled  with  man,  and  centuries 
of  misrule,  while  they  have  crushed  the  people,  have  stripped 
even  the  mountains  of  their  forests. 

But  with  all  the  desolateness  around  it,  Athens  is  to  the 
scholar  one  of  the  most  interesting  cities  in  the  world.  Its 
very  ruins  are  eloquent,   as   they  speak  of  the  past.     We 


GREECE    AND    ITS   YOUNG   KING.  293 

have  been  here  six  days,  and  have  been  riding  about  contin- 
ually, seeking  out  ancient  sites,  exploring  temples  and  ruins, 
and  find  the  charm  and  the  fascination  increasing  to  the  last. 

The  Parthenon  has  disappointed  me,  not  in  the  beauty  of 
its  design,  which  is  as  nearly  perfect  as  anything  ever  wrought 
by  the  hand  of  man,  but  in  the  state  of  its  preservation, 
which  is  much  less  perfect  than  that  of  the  temples  at  Pses- 
tum.  Time  and  the  elements  have  wrought  upon  its  marble 
front ;  but  these  alone  would  not  have  made  it  the  ruin 
that  it  is,  but  for  the  havoc  of  war :  for  so  massive  was 
its  structure  that  it  might  have  lasted  for  ages.  Indeed,  it 
was  preserved  nearly  intact  till  about  two  centuries  ago. 
But  the  Acropolis,  owing  to  the  advantages  of  its  site  (a 
rocky  eminence,  rising  up  in  the  midst  of  the  city,  like  the 
Castle  of  Edinburgh),  had  often  been  turned  into  a  for- 
tress, and  sustained  many  sieges.  In  1687  it  was  held  by 
the  Turks,  and  the  Parthenon  was  used  as  a  powder  maga- 
zine, which  was  exploded  by  a  bomb  from  the  Venetian 
camp  on  an  opposite  hill,  and  thus  was  fatally  shattered  the 
great  edifice  that  had  stood  from  the  age  of  Pericles.  Many 
columns  were  blown  down,  making  a  huge  rent  on  both 
sides.  It  is  sad  to  see  these  great  blocks  of  Pentelican 
marble,  that  had  been  so  perfectly  fashioned  and  chiselled, 
now  strown  over  the  summit  of  the  hill. 

And  then,  to  complete  the  destruction,  at  the  beginning  of 
this  century,  came  a  British  nobleman,  Lord  Elgin,  and  hav- 
ing obtained  a  firman  from  the  Turkish  Government,  pro- 
ceeded deliberately  to  put  up  his  scaffolding  and  take  down 
the  friezes  of  Phidias,  and  carried  off  a  ship-load  of  them  to 
London,  where  the  Elgin  Marbles  now  form  the  chief  orna- 
ment of  the  British  Museum.  The  English  spoilers  have 
indeed  allowed  some  plaster  casts  to  be  taken,  and  brought 
back  here — faint  reminders  of  the  glorious  originals.  With 
these  and  such  other  fragments  as  they  have  been  able  to 
gather,  the  Greeks  have  formed  a  small  museum  of  their  own 


294  GREECE   AND   ITS   YOUNG   KING. 

on  the  Acropolis.  In  those  which  preserve  any  degree  of 
entireness,  as  in  the  more  perfect  ones  in  London,  one  per- 
ceives the  matchless  grace  of  ancient  Greek  sculpture.  There 
are  long  processions  of  soldiers  mounted  on  horses,  and  priests 
leading  their  victims  to  the  sacrifice.  In  these  every  figure 
is  different,  yet  all  are  full  of  majesty  and  grace.  What  a 
power  even  in  the  horses,  as  they  sweep  along  in  the  endless 
procession  ;  and  what  a  freedom  in  their  riders.  The  whole 
seems  to  march  before  us. 

But  many  of  the  fragments  that  have  been  collected  are  so 
broken  that  we  cannot  make  anything  out  of  them.  We 
know  from  history  that  there  were  on  the  Acropolis  five  hun- 
dred statues  (besides  those  in  the  Parthenon),  scattered  over 
the  hill.  Of  these  but  little  remains — here  an  arm,  or  a  leg, 
or  a  headless  trunk,  which  would  need  a  genius  like  that  of 
the  ancient  sculptor  himself  to  restore  it  to  any  degree  of 
completeness.  It  is  said  of  Cuvier  that  such  was  his  know- 
ledge of  comparative  anatomy,  that  from  the  smallest  frag- 
ment of  bone  he  could  reconstruct  the  frame  of  a  mastodon, 
or  of  any  extinct  animal.  So  perhaps  out  of  these  remains 
of  ancient  art,  a  Thorwaldsen  (who  had  more  of  the  genius 
of  the  ancient  Greeks  than  any  other  modern  sculptor,)  might 
reconstruct  the  friezes  and  sculptures  of  the  Parthenon. 

But  perhaps  it  is  better  that  they  remain  as  they  are — 
fragments  of  a  mighty  ruin,  suggestions  of  a  beauty  and  grace 
now  lost  to  the  world ;  and  which  no  man  is  worthy  to  re- 
store. 

Even  as  it  stands,  shattered  and  broken,  the  Parthenon  is 
majestic  in  its  ruins.  Until  I  came  here  I  did  not  realize 
how  much  of  its  effect  was  due  to  its  position.  But  the  old 
Greeks  studied  the  effect  of  everything,  and  thus  the  loftiest 
of  positions  was  chosen  for  the  noblest  of  temples.  As 
Michael  Angelo,  in  building  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  said  that 
he  '•'  would  lift  the  Pantheon  into  the  air,"  (that  is,  erect  a 
structure  so   vast  that  its  very  dome  should  be  equal  to  the 


GREECE   AND    ITS   YOUNG   KING.  295 

ancient  temple  of  the  gods,)  so  here  the  builders  of  the  Par- 
thenon lifted  it  into  the  clouds.  It  stands  on  the  very  pin- 
nacle of  the  hill,  some  six  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea,  and  thus  is  brought  into  full  relief  against  the  sky. 
On  that  lofty  summit  it  could  be  seen  from  the  city  itself, 
which  lies  under  the  shadow  of  the  Acropolis,  as  well  as  from 
the  more  distant  plain.  It  could  be  seen  also  from  the  tops 
of  the  mountains,  and  even  far  out  at  sea,  as  it  caught  and 
reflected  back  the  rays  of  the  rising  or  the  setting  sun.  Its 
marble  columns,  outlined  against  the  blue  sky  of  Greece, 
seemed  almost  a  temple  in  the  clouds. 

This  effect  of  position  has  been  half  destroyed,  at  least  for 
those  living  in  Athens,  by  the  barbarous  additions  of  later 
times,  by  which,  in  order  that  the  Acropolis  might  be  turned 
into  a  fortress,  the  brow  of  the  hill  was  surmounted  with  a 
rude  wall,  which  still  encircles  it,  and  hides  all  but  the  upper 
part  of  the  Parthenon  from  view.  In  any  proposed  "  resto- 
ration," the  first  thing  should  be  to  throw  down  this  ugly 
wall,  so  that  the  great  temple  might  be  seen  to  its  very  base, 
standing  as  of  old  upon  the  naked  rocks,  with  no  barrier  to 
hide  its  majesty,  from  those  near  at  hand  as  well  as  those 
"  beholding  it  afar  off." 

But,  for  the  present,  to  see  the  beauty  of  the  Parthenon, 
one  must  go  up  to  the  Acropolis,  and  study  it  there.  We 
often  climbed  to  the  summit,  and  sat  down  on  the  steps  of 
the  Propylsea,  or  on  a  broken  column,  to  enjoy  the  prospect. 
From  this  point  the  eye  ranges  over  the  plain  of  Athens, 
bounded  on  one  side  by  mountains,  and  on  the  other  by  the 
sea.  Here  are  comprised  in  one  view  the  points  of  greatest 
interest  in  Athenian  history.  Yonder  is  the  bay  of  Salamis, 
where  Themistocles  defeated  the  Persians,  and  above  it  is 
the  hill  on  which  the  proud  Persian  monarch  Xerxes  sat  to 
see  the  ruin  of  the  Greek  ships,  but  from  which  before  the 
day  was  ended  he  fled  in  dismay.  To  such  spots  Demos- 
thenes could  point,  as  he  stood  in  the  Bemajust  below  us, 


296  GREECE   AND    ITS    YOUNG    KING. 

and  thundered  to  the  Athenian  people ;  and  by  such  recollec- 
tions he  roused  them  to  "march  against  Philip,  to  conquer 
or  die."  A  mile  and  a  half  distant,  but  in  full  sight,  was 
the  grove  of  the  Academy,  where  Plato  taught ;  and  here, 
under  the  Acropolis,  is  a  small  recess  hewn  in  the  rock  which 
is  pointed  out  as  the  prison  of  Socrates,  and  another  which  is 
called  his  tomb.  This  inconstant  people,  like  many  others, 
after  putting  to  death  the  wisest  man  of  his  age,  paid  almost 
divine  honors  to  his  memory. 

Like  the  Coliseum  at  Rome,  the  Parthenon  is  best  seen  by 
moonlight,  for  then  the  rents  are  half  concealed,  and  as  the 
shadows  of  the  columns  that  are  still  standing  fall  across  the 
open  area,  they  seem  like  the  giants  of  old  revisiting  the 
place  of  their  glory,  while  the  night  wind  sighing  among  the 
ruins  creeps  in  our  ears  like  whispers  of  the  mighty  dead. 

When  our  American  artist,  Mr.  Church,  was  here,  he 
spent  some  weeks  in  studying  the  Parthenon  and  taking 
sketches,  from  which  he  painted  the  beautiful  picture  now 
in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Morris  K.  Jesup.  He  studied  it 
from  every  point  and  in  every  light — at  sunrise  and  sunset, 
and  by  moonlight,  and  even  had  Bengal  lights  hung  at  night 
to  bring  out  new  lights  and  shadows.  This  latter  mode  of 
illumination  was  tried  on  a  far  grander  scale  when  the 
Prince  of  Wales  was  here  a  few  days  since  on  his  way  to 
India,  and  the  effect  was  indescribably  beautiful  as  those 
mighty  columns,  thus  brought  into  strange  relief,  stood  out 
against  the  midnight  sky. 

But  if  the  Parthenon  be  only  a  ruin,  the  memorial  of  a 
greatness  that  exists  no  more,  fit  emblem  of  that  mythology 
of  which  it  was  the  shrine,  and  of  which  it  is  now  at  once 
the  monument  and  the  tomb,  there  is  something  to  be  seen 
from  this  spot  which  is  not  a  reminder  of  decay.  Beneath 
the  Acropolis  is  Mars  Hill,  where  Paul  stood,  in  sight  of 
these  very  temples,  and  cried,  "  Ye  men  of  Athens,  I  per- 
ceive that  in  all  things  ye  are  too  superstitious "   [or,  as  it 


GREECE   AND    ITS   YOUNG   KING.  297 

might  be  more  correctly  rendered,  "very  religious"];  "for 
as  I  passed  by,  and  beheld  your  devotions,  I  found  an  altar 
[with  this  inscription,  To  the  Unknown  God.  Whom  there- 
|fore  ye  ignorantly  worship,  him  declare  I  unto  you.  God 
that  made  the  world,  and  all  things  therein,  seeing  that  he  is 
Lord  of  heaven  and  earth,  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with 
hands  "  [here  we  may  believe  he  pointed  upward  to  the  Par- 
thenon and  other  temples  which  crowned  the  hill  above 
him]  ;  "  neither  is  worshipped  with  men's  hands,  as  though 
he  needed  anything,  seeing  he  giveth  to  all  life,  and  breath, 
and  all  things."  That  voice  has  died  into  silence,  nor  doth 
remain  upon  the  barren  rock  a  single  monument,  or  token  of 
any  kind,  to  mark  where  the  great  Apostle  stood.  But  the 
faith  which  he  preached  has  gone  into  all  the  world,  and  to- 
day the  proudest  dome  that  overlooks  the  greatest  capital  of 
the  modern  world,  bears  the  name  of  St.  Paul ;  and  not  only 
in  London,  but  in  hundreds  of  other  cities,  in  allxparts  of  the 
earth,  are  temples  consecrated  with  his  name,  that  tell  of  the 
Unknown  God  who  has  been  declared  to  men,  and  of  a  faith 
and  worship  that  shall  not  pass  away. 

It  is  a  long  leap  in  history,  from  Ancient  to  Modern 
Greece  ;  but  the  intervening  period  contains  so  much  of  sad- 
ness and  of  shame,  that  it  is  just  as  well  to  pass  it  by.  What 
need  to  speak  of  the  centuries  of  degradation,  in  which 
Greece  has  been  trampled  on  by  Roman  and  Goth  and  Turk, 
since  we  may  turn  to  the  cheering  fact  that  after  this  long 
night  of  ages,  the  morning  has  come,  and  this  stricken  land 
revives  again  ?  Greece  is  at  last  free  from  her  oppressors, 
and  although  the  smallest  of  European  kingdoms,  yet  she 
exists ;  she  has  a  place  among  the  nations,  and  the  beginning 
of  a  new  life,  the  dawn  of  what  may  prove  a  long  and 
happy  career. 

It  is  impossible  to  look '  on  the  revival  of  a  nation  which 
lias  had  such  a  history  without  the  deepest  interest,  and  1 
questioned    eagerlv  every  one  who   could  tell  me  anything 
13* 


298  GREECE   AND    ITS    YOUNG   KING. 

about  the  conditions  and  prospects  of  the  country.  I  find 
the  general  report  is  one  of  progress — slow  indeed,  but 
steady.  The  venerable  Dr.  Hill,  who  has  lived  here  nearly 
forty- five  years,  and  is  about  the  oldest  inhabitant  of  Athens, 
tells  me  that  when  he  came,  there  was  not  a  single  house — he 
lived  at  first  in  an  old  Venetian  tower — and  to-day  Athens 
is  a  city  of  fifty  thousand  inhabitants,  with  wide  and  beauti- 
ful streets  ;  with  public  squares  and  fountains,  and  many  fine 
residences;  with  churches  and  schools,  and  a  flourishing 
University ;  with  a  Palace  and  a  King,  a  Parliament  House 
and  a  Legislature,  and  all  the  forms  of  constitutional  gov- 
ernment. 

Athens  is  a  very  bright  and  gay  city.  Its  climate  favors  life 
in  the  open  air,  and  its  streets  are  filled  with  people,  whose 
varied  costumes  give  them  a  most  picturesque  appearance. 
The  fez  is  very  common,  but  not  a  turban  is  to  be  seen,  for 
there  is  hardly  a  Turk  in  Athens,  unless  it  be  connected  with 
their  embassy.  The  most  striking  figures  in  the  streets  are 
the  Albanians,  or  Suliotes,  whose  dress  is  not  unlike  that  of 
the  Highlanders,  only  that  the  kilt,  instead  of  being  of 
Scotch  plaid,  is  of  white  cotton  frilled,  with  the  legs  cov- 
ered with  long  thick  stockings,  and  the  costume  completed 
by  a  "capote" — a  cloak  as  rough  as  a  sheepskin,  which  is 
thrown  coquettishly  over  the  shoulders.  These  Highlanders, 
though  not  of  pure  Greek  blood,  fought  bravely  in  the  war 
of  independence,  meriting  the  praise  of  Byron : — 

"  O  who  is  more  brave  than  a  dark  Suliote, 
In  his  snowy  camese  and  his  shaggy  capote  ?  " 

The  interior  of  the  country  is  less  advanced  than  the 
capital.  The  great  want  is  that  of  internal  communication. 
Greece  is  a  country  made  by  nature  both  for  commerce  and  for 
agriculture,  as  it  is  a  peninsula,  and  the  long  line  of  coast  is 
indented  with  bays,  and  the  interior  is  very  fertile ;  and  if  a 
few  short  roads  were  opened  to  connect  the  inland  valleys 


GREECE   AND    ITS   YOUNG   KING.  299 

with  the  sea,  so  that  the  farmers  and  peasants  could  send 
their  produce  to  market,  the  exports  of  the  country  might 
soon  be  doubled.  One  i(  trunk  "  road  also  is  needed,  about 
a  hundred  miles  long,  to  connect  Greece  with  the  European 
system  of  railroads.  The  opening  of  this  single  artery  of 
trade  would  give  a  great  impulse  to  the  industry  of  the 
country  ;  but  as  it  would  have  to  cross  the  frontier  of  Tur- 
key, it  is  necessary  to  have  the  consent  of  the  Turkish  Gov- 
ernment, and  this  the  Greeks,  though  they  have  sought  it 
for  years,  have  never  been  able  to  obtain. 

But  the  obstacles  to  improvement  are  not  all  the  fault  of 
the  Turks ;  the  Greeks  are  themselves  also  to  blame.  There 
is  a  lack  of  enterprise  and  of  public  spirit ;  they  do  not 
work  together  for  the  public  good.  If  there  were  a  little  more 
of  a  spirit  of  cooperation,  they  could  do  wonders  for  their 
country.  They  need  not  go  to  England  to  borrow  money  to 
build  railroads.  There  is  enough  in  Athens  itself,  which  is 
the  residence  of  many  wealthy  Greeks.  Greece  is  about  as 
large  in  territory  as  Massachusetts,  and  has  about  the  same 
population.  If  it  had  the  same  spirit  of  enterprise,  it  would 
soon  be  covered,  as  Massachusetts  is,  with  a  network  of 
railroads,  and  all  its  valleys  would  be  alive  with  the  hum  of 
industry. 

This  lack  of  enterprise  and  want  of  combination  for  pub- 
lic ends,  are  due  to  inherent  defects  of  national  character. 
The  modern  Greeks  have  many  of  the  traits  of  their  illus- 
trious ancestors,  in  which  there  is  a  strange  compound  of 
strength  and  weakness.  They  are  a  mercurial  and  excitable 
race,  very  much  like  the  French,  effervescing  like  cham- 
pagne, bubbling  up  and  boiling  over  ;  fond  of  talk,  and 
often  spending  in  word ,  the  energy  that  were  better  reserved 
for  deeds.  They  have  a  proverb  of  their  own,  which  well 
indicates  their  readiness  to  get  excited  about  little  matters, 
which  says,  "  They  drown  themselves  in  a  tumbler  of  water." 

A  still  more  serious  defect  than  this  lightness  of  manner, 


300  GREECE    AND    ITS    YOUNG    KING. 

is  the  want  of  a  high  patriotic  feeling  which  overrides  all 
personal  ambition.  There  is  too  much  of  party  spirit,  and 
of  personal  ambition.  Everybody  wants  to  be  in  office,  to 
obtain  control  of  the  Government,  and  selfish  interests  often 
take  the  precedence  of  public  considerations ;  men  seem  more 
eager  to  get  into  power  by  any  means,  than  to  secure  the 
good  of  their  country.  This  party  spirit  makes  more  difficult 
the  task  of  government.  But  after  all  these  are  things 
which  more  or  less  exist  in  all  countries,  and  especially  under 
all  free  governments,  and  which  the  most  skilled  statesmen 
have  to  use  all  their  tact  and  skill  to  restrain  within  due 
bounds. 

But  while  these  are  obvious  defects  of  the  national  charac- 
ter, no  one  can  fail  to  see  the  fine  qualities  of  the  Greeks, 
and  the  great  things  of  which  they  are  capable.  They  are 
full  of  talent,  in  which  they  show  their  ancestral  blood,  and 
if  sometimes  a  little  restless  and  unmanageable,  they  are  but 
like  spirited  horses,  that  need  only  to  be  "  reined  in  "  and 
guided  aright,  to  run  a  long  and  glorious  race. 

I  have  good  hope  of  the  country  also,  from  the  character 
of  the  young  King,  whom  I  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing. 
This  was  an  unexpected  pleasure,  for  which  I  am  indebted 
to  the  courtesy  of  our  accomplished  Minister  here,  Gen.  J. 
Meredith  Reed,  who  suggested  and  arranged  it;  and  it 
proved  not  a  mere  formality,  but  a  real  gratification.  I  had 
supposed  it  would  be  a  mere  ceremony,  but  it  was,  on  the 
contrary,  so  free  from  all  stiffness — our  reception  was  so 
unaffected  and  so  cordial — that  I  should  like  to  impart  a 
little  of  the  pleasure  of  it  to  others.  I  wish  I  could  convey 
the  impression  of  that  young  ruler  exactly  as  he  appeared  in 
that  interview :  for  this  is  a  case  in  which  the  simplest  and 
most  literal  description  would  be  the  most  favorable.  Public 
opinion  abroad  hardly  does  him  justice ;  for  the  mere  fact  of 
his  youth  (he  is  not  yet  quite  thirty  years  old),  may  lead 
those  who  know  nothing  of  him  personally,  to  suppose  that 


GREECE   AND    ITS    YOUNG    KING.  301 

he  is  a  mere  figure-head  of  the  State,  a  graceful  ornament 
indeed,  but  not  capable  of  adding  much  to  the  political 
wisdom  by  which  it  is  to  be  guided.  The  fact  too  of  his 
royal  connections  (for  he  is  the  son  of  the  King  of  Denmark, 
and  brother-in-law  both  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  of  the 
eldest  son  of  the  Czar),  naturally  leads  one  to  suppose  that  he 
was  chosen  King  by  the  Greeks  chiefly  to  insure  the  alliance 
of  England  and  Russia.  No  doubt  these  considerations  did 
influence,  as  they  very  properly  might,  his  election  to  the 
throne.  But  the  people  were  most  happy  in  their  choice,  in 
that  they  obtained  not  merely  a  foreign  prince  to  rule  over 
them,  but  one  of  such  personal  qualities  as  to  win  their  love 
and  command  their  respect.  Those  who  come  in  contact 
with  him  soon  discover  that  he  is  not  only  a  man  of  educa- 
tion, but  of  practical  knowledge  of  affairs  ;  that  he  "  carries 
an  old  head  on  young  shoulders,"  and  has  little  of  youth 
about  him  except  its  modesty,  but  this  he  has  in  a  marked 
degree,  and  it  gives  a  great  charm  to  his  manners.  I  was 
struck  with  this  as  soon  as  we  entered  the  room — an  air  so 
modest,  and  yet  so  frank  and  open,  that  it  at  once  puts  a 
stranger  at  his  ease.  There  is  something  very  engaging  in  his 
manner,  which  commands  your  confidence  by  l^ie  freedom 
with  which  he  gives  his  own.  He  welcomed  us  most  cor- 
dially, and  shook  us  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  commenced  the 
conversation  in  excellent  English,  talking  with  as  much 
apparent  freedom  as  if  he  were  with  old  friends.  We  were 
quite  alone  with  him,  and  had  him  all  to  ourselves.  There 
was  nothing  of  the  manner  of  one  who  feels  that  his  dignity 
consists  in  maintaining  a  stiff  and  rigid  attitude.  On  the 
contrary,  his  spirits  seemed  to  run  over,  and  he  conversed 
not  only  with  the  freedom,  but  the  joyousness  of  a  boy.  He 
amused  us  very  much  by  describing  a  scene  which  some  trav- 
eller professed  to  have  witnessed  in  the  Greek  Legislature, 
when  the  speakers  became  so  excited  that  they  passed  from 
words  to  blows,  and  the  Assembly  broke  up  in  a  general 


302  GREECE   AND    ITS    YOUNG    KING. 

melee.  Of  course  no  such  scene  ever  occurred,  but  it  suited 
the  purpose  of  some  penny-a-liner,  who  probably  was  in 
want  of  a  dinner,  and  must  concoct  "  a  sensation  "  for  his 
journal.  But  I  had  been  present  at  a  meeting  of  the  Greek 
Parliament  a  day  or  two  before,  and  could  say  with  truth 
that  it  was  far  more  quiet  and  decorous  than  the  meeting  of 
the  National  Assembly  at  Versailles,  which  I  had  witnessed 
several  months  before.  Indeed  no  legislative  body  could  be 
more  orderly  in  its  deliberations. 

Then  the  King  talked  of  a  great  variety  of  subjects — of 
Greece  and  of  America,  of  art  and  of  politics,  of  the  Par- 
thenon and  of  plum-puddings.*  Gen.  Reed  was  very  anxious 
that  Greece  should  be  represented  at  the  Centennial  Exhibi- 
tion at  Philadelphia.  The  King  asked  what  they  should 
send  ?  I  modestly  suggested  "  The  Parthenon,"  with  which 
Greece  would  eclipse  all  the  world,  unless  Egypt  should  send 
the  Pyramids  !  Of  course,  it  would  be  a  profanation  to  touch 
a  stone  of  that  mighty  temple,  though  it  would  not  be  half 
as  bad  to  carry  off  a  few  "  specimen  bricks  "  as  it  was  for 
Lord  Elgin  to  carry  off  the  friezes  of  Phidias.  But  Gen. 
Reed  suggested,  what  would  be  quite  practicable,  that  they 
should  send  plaster  casts  of  some  of  their  greatest  statues, 
which  would  not  rob  them,  and  yet  be  the  most  glorious  me- 
morial of  Ancient  Greece. 

The  King  spoke  very  warmly  of  America.  The  relations 
of  the  two  countries  have  always  been  most  cordial.  When 
Greece  was  struggling  single-handed  to  gain  her  independence, 
and  European  powers  stood  aloof,  America  was  the  first  to  ex- 

*  This  is  not  a  jest.  The  King  said  with  perfect  truth  that  the 
chief  revenue  of  Greece  was  derived  from  the  plum-puddings  of 
England  and  America,  the  fact  being  that  the  currants  of  Corinth 
(which  indeed  gives  the  name  to  that  delicious  fruit)  form  the  chief 
article  of  export  from  the  Kingdom  of  Greece — the  amount  in  one 
year  exported  to  England  alone,  being  of  the  value  of  £1,200,000 ! 
The  next  article  of  export  is  olive  oil. 


GREECE   AND    ITS   YOUNG   KING.  303 

tend  her  sympathy  and  aid.  This  early  friendship  has  not  been 
forgotten,  and  it  needs  only  a  worthy  representative  of  our 
country  here — such  as  we  are  most  fortunate  in  having  now 
— to  keep  for  us  this  golden  friendship  through  all  future 
years. 

Such  is  the  man  who  is  now  the  King  of  Greece.  He  has 
a  great  task  before  him,  to  restore  a  country  so  long  depressed. 
He  appreciates  fully  its  difficulties.  No  man  understands 
better  the  character  of  the  Greeks,  nor  the  real  wants  of  the 
country.  He  may  sometimes  be  tried  by  things  in  his  way. 
Yet  he  applies  himself  to  them  with  inexhaustible  patience. 
The  greater  the  difficulty,  the  greater  the  glory  of  success. 
If  he  should  sometimes  feel  a  little  discouraged,  yet  there  is 
much  also  to  cheer  and  animate  him.  If  things  move  rather 
slowly,  yet  it  is  a  fact  of  good  omen  that  they  move  at  all  / 
and  looking  back  over  a  series  of  years,  one  may  see  that 
there  has  been  a  great  advance.  It  is  not  yet  half  a  century 
since  this  country  gained  its  independence.  Fifty  years  ago 
Turkish  pachas  were  ruling  over  Greece,  and  grinding  the 
Christian  population  into  the  dust.  Now  the  Turks  are 
gone.  The  people  are  free,  and  in  their  erect  attitude,  their 
manly  bearing  and  cheerful  spirits,  one  sees  that  they  feel 
that  they  are  men,  accustomed  for  these  many  years  to  breathe 
the  air  of  liberty. 

With  such  a  country  and  such  a  people,  this  young  king 
has  before  him  the  most  beautiful  part  which  is  given  to  any 
European  sovereign — to  restore  this  ancient  State,  to  recon- 
struct, not  the  Parthenon,  but  the  Kingdom ;  to  open  new 
channels  of  industry  and  wealth,  and  to  lead  the  people  in 
all  the  ways  of  progress  and  of  peace. 

It  will  not  be  intruding  into  any  privacy,  if  I  speak  of 
the  king  in  his  domestic  relations.  It  is  not  always  that 
kings  and  queens  present  the  most  worthy  example  to  their 
people  ;  and  it  wTas  a  real  pleasure  to  hear  the  way  in  which 
everybody  spoke  of  this  royal  family  as  a  model.     The  queen, 


304  GREECE   AND    ITS    YOUNG   KING. 

a  daughter  of  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  of  Russia,  is 
famed  for  her  beauty,  and  equally  for  the  sweetness  of  her 
manners.  The  whole  nation  seems  to  be  in  love  with  her, 
she  is  so  gentle  and  so  good.  They  have  four  children,  ruddy 
cheeked  little  creatures,  whom  we  saw  riding  about  everj 
day,  so  blooming  and  rosy  that  the  carriage  looked  like  a  bas- 
ket of  flowers.  They  were  always  jumping  about  like  squir- 
rels, so  that  the  King  told  us  he  had  to  have  them  fastened 
in  with  leather  straps,  lest  in  their  childish  glee  they  should 
throw  themselves  overboard.  In  truth  it  was  a  pretty  sight, 
that  well  might  warm  the  heart  of  the  most  cold-blooded  old 
bachelor  that  ever  lived ;  and  no  one  could  see  them  riding 
by  without  blessing  that  beautiful  young  mother  and  her 
happy  children. 

There  is  something  very  fitting  in  such  a  young  king  and 
queen  being  at  the  head  of  a  kingdom  which  is  itself  young, 
that  so  rulers  and  people  may  grow  in  years  and  in  happiness 
together. 

I  know  I  express  the  feelings  of  every  American,  when  I 
wish  all  good  to  this  royal  house.  May  this  king  and  queen 
long  live  to  present  to  their  people  the  beautiful  spectacle  of 
the  purest  domestic  love  and  happiness  !  May  they  live  to 
see  Greece  greatly  increased  in  population  and  in  wealth-  — 
the  home  of  a  brave,  free,  intelligent  and  happy  people  ! 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  305 


CHAPTER  XXYIII. 

CONSTANTINOPLE. 

November  24th. 

From  my  childhood  no  city  has  taken  more  hold  of  my 
imagination  than  Constantinople.  For  weeks  we  have  been 
looking  forward  to  our  visit  here ;  and  when  at  last  we  en- 
tered the  Dardanelles  (passing  the  site  of  ancient  Troy),  and 
crossed  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  and  on  Friday  noon,  Nov.  12th, 
caught  the  first  gleam  of  the  city  in  the  distance,  we  seemed  to 
be  realizing  a  long  cherished  dream.  There  it  was  in  all  its 
glory.  Venice  rising  from  the  sea  is  not  more  beautiful  than 
Constantinople,  when  the  morning  sun  strikes  on  its  domes  and 
minarets,  rising  out  of  the  groves  of  dark  green  cypresses, 
which  mark  the  places  where  the  Turks  bury  their  dead. 
And  when  we  entered  the  Bosphorus,  and  rounding  Seraglio 
Point,  anchored  at  the  mouth  of  the  Golden  Horn,  we 
seemed  to  be  indeed  in  the  heart  of  the  Orient,  where  the 
gorgeous  East  dazzles  the  traveller  from  the  West  with  its 
glittering  splendors. 

But  closer  contact  sometimes  turns  poetry  to  prose  in  rather 
an  abrupt  manner,  and  the  impression  of  Oriental  magnifi- 
cence is  rudely  disturbed  when  one  goes  on  shore.  Indeed, 
if  a  traveller  cares  more  for  pleasant  impressions  than  for  dis- 
agreeable realities,  he  would  do  better  not  to  land  at  all,  but 
rather  to  stand  afar  oft",  moving  slowly  up  and  down  the 
Bosphorus,  beholding  and  admiring,  and  then  sail  away  just 
at  sunset,  as  the  last  light  of  day  gilds  the  domes  and 
minarets  with  a  parting  splendor,  and  he  will  retain  his  first 
impressions  undisturbed,  and  Constantinople  will  remain  in 
his  memory  as  a  beautiful  dream.     But  as  we  are  prepared 


306  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

for  every  variety  of  experience,  and  enjoy  sudden  contrasts, 
we  are  rather  pleased  than  otherwise  at  the  noise  and  con- 
fusion which  greet  the  arrival  of  our  steamer  in  these  waters ; 
and  the  crowd  of  boats  which  surround  the  ship,  and  the 
yells  of  the  boatmen,  though  they  are  not  the  voices  of 
paradise,  greatly  amuse  us.  Happily  a  dragoman  sent  from  the 
Hotel  d' Angleterre,  where  we  had  engaged  rooms,  hails  us  from 
a  boat,  and,  coming  on  board,  takes  us  in  charge,  and  rescues  us 
f  rom  the  mob,  and  soon  lands  us  on  the  quay,  where,  after  pass- 
ing smoothly  through  the  Custom  House,  we  see  our  numerous 
trunks  piled  on  the  backs  of  half  a  dozen  porters,  or  hamals, 
and  our  guide  leads  the  way  up  the  hill  of  Pera.  And  now 
we  get  an  interior  view  of  Constantinople,  which  is  quite 
different  from  the  glittering  exterior,  as  seen  from  a  distance. 
We  are  plunging  into  a  labyrinth  of  dark  and  narrow  and 
dirty  streets,  which  are  overhung  with  miserable  houses, 
where  from  little  shops  turbaned  figures  peer  out  upon  us, 
and  women,  closely  veiled,  glide  swiftly  by.  Such  streets  we 
never  saw  in  any  city  that  pretended  to  civilization.  The 
pavement  (if  such  it  deserves  to  be  called)  is  of  the  rudest 
kind,  of  rough,  sharp  stones,  between  which  one  sinks  in  mud. 
There  is  hardly  a  street  that  is  decently  paved  in  all  Constan- 
tinople. Even  the  Grand  Street  of  Pera,  on  which  are  our 
hotel  and  all  the  foreign  embassies,  is  very  mean  in  ajjpear- 
ance.  The  embassies  themselves  are  fine,  as  they  are  set  far 
back  from  the  street,  surrounded  with  ample  grounds,  and  on 
one  side  overlook  the  Bosphorus,  but  the  street  itself  is 
dingy  enough.  To  our  surprise  we  find  that  Constantinople 
has  no  architectural  magnificence  to  boast  of.  Except  the 
Mosques,  and  the  Palaces  of  the  Sultan,  which  indeed  are  on 
an  Imperial  scale,  there  are  no  buildings  which  one  would  go 
far  to  see  in  London  or  Paris  or  Rome.  The  city  has  been 
again  and  again  swept  by  fires,  so  that  many  parts  are  of 
modern  construction,  while  the  old  parts  which  have  escaped 
the  flames,  are  miserable  beyond  description.     It  is  through 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  307 

such  a  part  that  we  are  now  picking  our  way,  steering  through 
narrow  passages,  full  of  dogs  and  asses  and  wretched-looking 
people.  This  is  our  entrance  into  Constantinople.  After 
such  an  experience  one's  enthusiasm  is  dampened  a  little,  and 
he  is  willing  to  exchange  somewhat  of  Oriental  picturesque- 
ness  for  Western  cleanliness  and  comfort. 

But  the  charm  is  not  all  gone,  nor  has  it  disappeared  after 
twelve  days  of  close  familiarity.  Only  the  picture  takes  a 
more  defined  shape,  and  we  are  able  to  distinguish  the  lights 
and  shadows.  Constantinople  is  a  city  full  of  sharp  con- 
trasts, in  which  one  extreme  sets  the  other  in  a  stronger 
light,  as  Oriental  luxury  and  show  look  down  on  Oriental  dirt 
and  beggary ;  as  gold  here  appears  by  the  side  of  rags,  and 
squalid  poverty  crouches  under  the  walls  of  splendid  palaces. 
Thus  the  city  may  be  described  as  mean  or  as  magnificent, 
and  either  description  be  true,  according  as  we  contemplate 
one  extreme  or  the  other. 

As  to  its  natural  beauty,  (that  of  situation,)  no  language  can 
surpass  the  reality.  It  stands  at  the  junction  of  two  seas  and 
two  continents,  where  Europe  looks  across  the  Bosphoru^  to 
Asia,  as  New  York  looks  across  the  East  Biver  to  Brooklyn. 
That  narrow  strait  which  divides  the  land  unites  the  seas, 
the  Black  Sea  with  the  Mediterranean.  From  the  lofty  height 
of  the  Seraskier  tower  one  looks  down  on  such  a  panorama 
as  is  not  elsewhere  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Ear  away 
stretches  the  beautiful  Sea  of  Marmora,  which  comes  up  to 
the  very  walls  of  the  city,  and  seems  to  kiss  its  feet.  On  the 
other  side  of  Stamboul,  dividing  it  from  Pera,  is  the  Golden 
Horn,  crowded  with  ships ;  and  in  front  is  the  Bosphorus, 
where  the  whole  Turkish  navy  rides  at  anchor,  and  a  fleet  of 
steamers  and  ships  is  passing,  bearing  the  grain  of  the  Black 
Sea  to  feed  the  nations  of  Western  Europe.  Islanded  amid 
•all  these  waters  are  the  different  parts  of  one  great  capital — 
a  vast  stretch  of  houses,  out  of  which  rise  a  hundred  domes  and 
minarets.     As  one  takes  in  all  the  features  of  this  marvellous 


308  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

whole,  he  can  but  exclaim,  "  Beautiful  for  situation,  the  joy 
of  the  whole  earth,  is" — Constantinople  ! 

Nor  are  its  environs  less  attractive  than  the  position  of  the 
city  itself.  Whichever  way  you  turn,  sailing  over  these  waters 
and  along  these  shores,  or  riding  outside  of  the  ancient  wall, 
from  the  Golden  Horn  over  the  hills  to  the  Sea  of  Marmora, 
with  its  beautiful  islands,  there  is  something  to  enchant  the 
eye  and  to  excite  the  imagination.  A  sail  up  the  Bosphorus 
is  one  of  the  most  interesting  in  the  world.  We  have  taken 
it  twice.  The  morning  after  our  arrival,  our  friend  Dr. 
George  W.  Wood,  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  many  acts  of 
kindness,  gave  up  the  day  to  accompany  us.  For  miles  the 
shores  on  either  side  are  dotted  with  palaces  of  the  Sultan,  or 
of  the  Viceroy  of  Egypt,  or  of  this  or  that  Grand  Vizier,  or 
of  some  Pasha  who  has  despoiled  provinces  to  enrich  himself, 
or  with  the  summer  residences  of  the  Foreign  Ministers,  or 
of  wealthy  merchants  of  Constantinople. 

The  Bosphorus  constantly  reminded  me  of  the  Hudson, 
with  its  broad  stream  indented  with  bays,  now  swelling  out 
like  our  own  noble  river  at  the  Tappan  Zee,  and  then 
narrowing  again,  as  at  West  Point,  and  with  the  same  steep 
hills  rising  from  the  water's  edge,  and  wooded  to  the  top. 
So  delighted  were  we  with  the  excursion,  that  we  have  since 
made  it  a  second  time,  accompanied  by  Rev.  A.  V.  Millingen, 
the  excellent  pastor  of  the  Union  Church  of  Pera,  and  find  the 
impression  of  beauty  increased.  Landing  on  the  eastern  side, 
near  where  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia  come  down  to  mingle 
with  the  sea,  we  walked  up  a  valley  which  led  among  the 
hills,  and  climbed  the  Giants'  Mountain,  on  which  Moslem 
chronicles  fix  the  place  of  the  tomb  of  Joshua,  the  great 
Hebrew  leader,  while  tradition  declares  it  to  be  the  tomb  of 
Hercules.  Probably  one  was  buried  here  as  truly  as  the 
other;  authorities  differ  on  the  subject,  and  you  take  your 
choice.  But  wliat  none  can  dispute  is  the  magnificent  site, 
worthy  to  have  been  the  place  of  burial  of  any  hero  or  demi- 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  309 

god.  The  view  extends  up  and  down  the  Bosphorus  for 
miles.  How  beautiful  it  seemed  that  day,  which  was  like 
one  of  the  golden  days  of  our  Indian  summer,  a  soft  and 
balmy  air  resting  on  all  the  valleys  and  the  hills.  The  land- 
scape had  not,  indeed,  the  freshness  of  spring,  but  the  leaves 
still  clung  to  the  trees,  which  wore  the  tints  of  autumn,  and 
thus  resembled,  though  they  did  not  equal,  those  of  our 
American  forests  ;  and  as  we  wandered  on  amid  these  wild 
and  wooded  scenes,  I  could  imagine  that  I  was  rambling 
among  the  lovely  hills  along  the  Hudson. 

But  there  is  one  point  in  which  the  resembrance  ceases. 
There  is  a  difference  (and  one  which  makes  all  the  difference 
in  the  world),  viz.,  that  the  Hudson  presents  us  only  the 
beauty  of  nature^  while  the  Bosphorus  has  the  added  charm 
of  history.  The  dividing  line  between  Europe  and  Asia,  it 
has  divided  the  world  for  thousands  of  years.  Here  we  come 
back  to  the  very  beginnings  of  history,  or  before  all  history, 
into  the  dim  twilight  of  fable  and  tradition  ;  for  through 
these  straits,  according  to  the  ancient  story,  sailed  Jason  with 
his  Argonauts  in  search  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  and  yonder  are 
the  Symplegades,  the  rocks  which  were  the  terror  of  navi- 
gators even  in  the  time  of  Jason,  if  such  a  man  ever  lived, 
and  around  which  the  sea  still  roars  as  it  roared  thousands  of 
years  ago.  On  a  hill-top  stood  a  temple  to  Jupiter  Urius,  to 
which  mariners  entering  the  stormy  Euxine  came  to  offer 
their  vows,  and  to  pray  for  favorable  winds ;  and  here  still 
lives  an  old,  long-haired  Dervish,  to  whom  the  Turkish  sailors 
apply  for  the  benefit  of  his  prayers.  He  was  very  friendly 
with  us,  and  a  trifling  gratuity  insured  us  whatever  protec- 
tion he  could  give.  Thus  we  strolled  along  pver  the  hills  to 
the  Genoese  Castle,  a  great  round  tower,  built  hundreds  of 
years  ago  to  guard  the  entrance  to  the  Black  Sea,  and  in  a 
grove  of  oaks  stretched  ourselves  upon  the  grass,  and  took 
our  luncheon  in  full  view  of  two  continents,  both  washed  by 
one  "  great  and  wide  sea."     To  this  very  spot  came  Darius 


310  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

the  Great,  to  get  the  same  view  on  which  we  are  looking' 
now ;  and  a  few  miles  below,  opposite  the  American  College 
at  Bebek,  he  built  his  bridge  of  boats  across  the  Bosphorus, 
over  which  he  passed  his  array  of  seven  hundred  thousand 
men.  To  the  same  spot  Xenophon  led  his  famous  Retreat  of 
the  Ten  Thousand. 

Coming  down  to  later  times,  we  are  sitting  among  the 
graves  of  Arabs  who  fought  and  fell  in  the  time  of  Haroun 
al  Raschid,  the  magnificent  Caliph  of  Bagdad,  in  whose  reign 
occurred  the  marvellous  adventures  related  in  the  Tales  of 
the  Arabian  Nights.  These  were  Moslem  heroes,  and  their 
graves  are  still  called  u  the  tombs  of  the  martyrs."  But 
hither  came  other  warriors ;  for  in  yonder  valley  across  the 
water  encamped  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  with  his  Crusaders, 
who  had  traversed  Europe,  and  were  now  about  to  cross  into 
Asia,  to  march  through  Asia  Minor,  and  descend  into  Syria, 
to  fight  for  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

Recalling  such  historic  memories,  and  enjoying  to  the  full 
the  beauty  of  the  day,  we  came  down  from  the  hills  to  the 
waters,  and  crossing  in  a  caique  to  the  other  side  of  the  Bos- 
phorus, took  the  steamer  back  to  the  city. 

While  such  are  the  surroundings  of  Constantinople,  in  its 
interior  it  is  the  most  picturesque  city  we  have  yet  seen.  I 
do  not  know  what  we  may  find  in  India,  or  China,  or  Japan, 
but  in  Europe  there  is  nothing  like  it.  On  the  borders  of 
Europe  and  Asia,  it  derives  its  character,  as  well  as  its  mixed 
population,  from  both.  It  is  a  singular  compound  of  nations. 
I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  spot  in  the  world  where  meet  a 
greater  variety  of  races  than  on  the  long  bridge  across  the 
Golden  Horn,  J>etween  Pera  and  Stamboul.  Here  are  the 
representatives  of  all  the  types  of  mankind  that  came  out  of 
the  Ark,  the  descendants  of  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japheth — Jews 
and  Gentiles,  Turks  and  Greeks  and  Armenians,  "  Parthians 
and  Medes  and  Elamites,  and  dwellers  in  Mesopotamia," 
Persians  and  Parsees,  and  Arabs  from  Egypt  and  Arabia, 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  311 

and  Moors  from  the  Barbary  Coast,  and  Nubians  and  Abys- 
sinians  from  the  upper  Nile,  and  Ethiopians  from  the  far 
interior  of  Africa.  I  have  been  surprised  to  see  so  many 
blacks  wearing  the  turban.  But  here  they  are  in  great  num- 
bers, the  recognized  equals  of  their  white  co-religionists.  I 
have  at  last  found  one  country  in  the  world  in  which  the  dis- 
tinction between  black  and  white  makes  absolutely  no  differ- 
ence in  one's  rank  or  position.  And  this,  strange  to  say,  is 
a  country  where  slavery  long  existed,  and  where,  though 
suppressed  by  law,  it  still  exists,  though  less  openly.  We 
visited  the  old  slave  market,  and  though  evidently  "  business" 
was  dull,  yet  a  dozen  men  were  sitting  around,  who,  we  were 
told,  were  slave  merchants,  and  some  black  women  who  were 
there  to  be  sold.  But  slavery  in  Turkey  is  of  a  mild  form, 
and  as  it  affects  both  races  (fair  Circassian  women  being  sold 
as  well  as  the  blackest  Ethiopian),  the  fact  of  servitude  works 
no  such  degradation  as  attaints  the  race.  And  so  whites  and 
blacks  meet  together,  and  walk  together,  and  eat  together, 
apparently  without  the  slightest  consciousness  of  superiority 
on  one  side,  or  of  inferiority  on  the  other.  No  doubt  this 
equality  is  partly  due  to  the  influence  of  Mohammedanism, 
which  is  very  democratic,  which  recognizes  no  distinction  of 
race,  before  which  all  men  are  equal  as  before  their  Creator, 
and  which  thus  lifts  up  the  poor  and  abases  the  proud.  I  am 
glad  to  be  able  to  state  one  fact  so  much  to  its  honor. 

But  these  turbaned  Asiatics  are  not  the  only  ones  that 
throng  this  bridge.  Here  are  Franks  in  great  numbers, 
speaking  all  the  languages  of  the  West,  French  and  Italian, 
German  and  English.  One  may  distinguish  them  afar  off  by 
their  stove-pipe  hat,  that  beautiful  cylinder  whose  perpen- 
dicular outline  is  the  emblem  of  uprightness,  and  which  we 
wish  might  always  be  a  sign  and  pledge  that  the  man  whoso 
face  appears  under  it  would  illustrate  in  his  own  person  the 
unbending  integrity  of  Western  civilization.  And  so  the 
stream  of  life  rolls  on  over  that  bridge,  as  over  the  Bridge  of 


312  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Mirza,  never  ceasing  any  more  than  the  waters  of  the  Golden 
Horn  which  roll  beneath  it. 

And  not  only  all  races,  but  all  conditions  are  represented 
here — beggars  and  princes  ;  men  on  horseback  forcing  their 
way  through  the  crowd  on  foot ;  carriages  rolling  and  rum- 
bling on,  but  never  stopping  the  tramp,  tramp,  of  the  thou- 
sands that  keep  up  their  endless  march.  Here  the  son  of  the 
Sultan  dashes  by  in  a  carriage,  with  mounted  officers  attend- 
ing his  sacred  (though  very  insignificant)  person  ;  while  along 
his  path  crouch  all  the  forms  of  wretched  humanity — men 
with  loathsome  diseases  ;  men  without  arms  or  legs,  holding 
up  their  withered  stumps;  or  with  eyes  put  out,  rolling 
their  sightless  eyeballs,  to  excite  the  pity  of  passers  by — all 
joining  in  one  wail  of  misery,  and  begging  for  charity. 

In  the  mongrel  population  of  Constantinople  one  must  not 
forget  the  dogs,  which  constitute  a  large  part  of  the  inhabi- 
tants. Some  traveller  who  has  illustrated  his  sketches  with 
the  pen  by  sketches  with  the  pencil,  has  given,  as  a  faithful 
picture  of  this  capital  of  the  East,  simply  a  pack  of  dogs 
snarling  in  the  foreground  as  its  most  conspicuous  feature, 
while  a  mosque  and  a  minaret  may  be  faintly  seen  in  the  dis- 
tance. If  this  is  a  caricature,  yet  it  only  exaggerates  the 
reality,  for  certainly  the  dogs  have  taken  full  possession  of 
the  city.  They  cannot  be  ''Christian  dogs,"  but  Moslem 
dogs,  since  they  are  tolerated,  and  even  protected,  by  the 
Turks.  It  is  a  peculiar  breed — all  yellow,  with  long,  sharp 
noses  and  sharp  ears — resembling  in  fact  more  the  fox  or  the 
wolf  than  the  ordinary  house-dog.  A.  shaggy  Newfoundlander 
is  never  seen.  As  they  are  restrained  by  no  Malthusian 
ideas  of  population,  they  multiply  exceedingly.  They  belong 
to  no  man,  but  are  their  own  masters,  and  roam  about  as 
freely  as  any  of  the  followers  of  the  prophet.  They  are  only 
kept  in  bounds  by  a  police  of  their  own.  It  is  said  that  they 
are  divided  into  communities,  which  have  their  separate  dis- 
tricts, and  that  if  by  chance  a  stray  dog  gets  out  of  his  beat, 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  313 

the  others  set  upon  him,  and  punish  him  so  cruelly  that  he 
flies  yelping  to  his  own  crowd  for  protection.  They  live  in 
the  streets,  and  there  may  be  seen  generally  asleep  in  the  day- 
time. You  cannot  look  anywhere  but  yon  see  a  dog  curled 
up  like  a  rug  that  has  been  thrown  in  a  corner.  You  stum- 
ble over  them  on  the  sidewalk.  They  keep  pretty  quiet  dur- 
ing the  day,  but  at  night  they  let  themselves  loose,  and  come 
upon  you  in  full  cry.  They  bark  and  yelp,  but  their  favorite 
note  is  a  hideous  howl,  which  they  keep  up  under  your  win- 
dow by  the  hour  together  (at  least  it  seems  an  hour  when  you 
are  trying  to  sleep),  or  until  they  are  exhausted,  when  the 
cry  is  immediately  taken  up  by  a  fresh  pack  around  the 
corner. 

The  purely  Oriental  character  of  Constantinople  is  seen  in 
a  visit  to  the  bazaars — a  feature  peculiar  to  Eastern  cities. 
It  was  perhaps  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  locomotion,  always 
painful  to  a  Turk,  that  business  has  been  concentrated  with- 
in a  defined  space.  Imagine  an  area  of  many  acres,  or  of 
many  city  squares,  all  enclosed  and  covered  in,  and  cut  up 
into  a  great  number  of  little  streets  or  passages,  on  either 
side  of  which  are  ranged  innumerable  petty  shops,  and  you 
have  a  general  idea  of  the  bazaars.  In  front  of  each  of  these 
a  venerable  Turk  sits  squatting  on  his  legs,  and  smoking  his 
pipe,  and  ready  to  receive  customers.  You  wonder  where  he 
can  keep  his  goods,  for  his  shop  is  like  a  baby  house,  a  space 
of  but  a  few  feet  square.  But  he  receives  you  with  Oriental 
courtesy,  making  a  respectful  salaam,  perhaps  offering  you 
coffee  or  a  pipe  to  soothe  your  nerves,  and  render  your  mind 
calm  and  placid  for  the  contemplation  of  the  treasures  he  is 
to  set  before  you.  And  then  he  proceeds  to  take  down  from 
his  shelves,  or  from  some  inner  recess,  what  does  indeed  stir 
your  enthusiasm,  much  as  you  may  try  to  repress  it — rich 
silks  from  Broussa,  carpets  from  Persia,  blades  from  Damas- 
cus, and  antique  curiosities  in  bronze  and  ivory — all  of  which 
excite  the  eager  desire  of  lovers  of  things  that  are  rare  and 
H 


314  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

beautiful.  I  should  not  like  to  say  (lest  it  should  be  betray- 
ing secrets)  how  many  hours  some  of  our  party  spent  in  these 
places,  or  what  follies  and  extravagances  they  committed. 
Certainly  as  an  exhibition  of  one  phase  of  Oriental  life,  it 
is  a  scene  never  to  be  forgotten. 

To  turn  from  business  to  religion,  as  it  is  now  perhaps 
midday  or  sunset,  we  hear  from  the  minaret  of  a  neighboring 
mosque  the  muezzin  calling  the  hour  of  prayer ;  and  putting 
off  our  shoes,  with  sandaled  or  slippered  feet,  we  enter  the 
holy  place.  At  the  vestibule  are  fountains,  at  which  the 
Moslems  are  washing  their  hands  and  feet  before  they  go  in 
to  pray.  We  lift  the  heavy  curtain  which  covers  the  door, 
and  enter.  One  glance  shows  that  we  are  not  in  a  Christian 
church,  either  Catholic  or  Protestant.  There  is  no  cross  and 
no  altar ;  no  Lord's  Prayer,  no  Creed,  and  no  Ten  Command- 
ments. The  walls  are  naked  and  bare,  with  no  sculptured 
form  of  prophet  or  apostle,  and  no  painting  of  Christ  or  the 
Virgin.  The  Mohammedans  are  the  most  terrible  of  icono- 
clasts, and  tolerate  no  "  images"  of  any  kind,  which  they  re- 
gard as  a  form  of  idolatry.  But  though  the  building  looks 
empty  and  cold,  there  is  a  great  appearance  of  devotion.  All 
the  worshippers  stand  with  their  faces  turned  towards  Mecca, 
as  the  ulema  in  a  low,  wailing  tone  reads,  or  chants,  the 
passages  from  the  Koran.  There  is  no  music  of  any  kind, 
except  this  dreary  monotone.  But  all  seem  moved  by  some 
common  feeling.  They  kneel,  they  bow  themselves  to  the 
earth,  they  kiss  the  floor  again  and  again  in  sign  of  their 
deep  abasement  before  God  and  his  prophet.  We  looked  on 
in  silence,  respecting  the  proprieties  of  the  place.  But  the 
scene  gave  me  some  unpleasant  reflections,  .not  only  at  the 
blind  superstition  of  the  worshippers,  but  at  the  changes 
which  had  come  to  pass  in  this  city  of  Constantine,  the  first 
of  Christian  emperors,  and  in  a  place  which  has  been  so  often 
solemnly  devoted  to  the  worship  of  Christ.  The  Mosque  of 
St.    Sophia,  which,  in  its   vastness  and  severe  and   simple 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  315 

majesty,  is  certainly  one  of  the  grandest  temples  of  the 
world,  was  erected  as  a  Christian  church,  and  so  remained 
for  nearly  a  thousand  years.  In  it,  or  in  its  predecessor 
standing  on  the  same  spot,  preached  the  M  golden-mouthed 
Chrysostom."  This  venerable  temple  is  now  in  the  hands  of 
those  who  despise  the  name  of  Christ.  It  is  about  four  hun- 
dred and  twenty  years  since  the  Turks  captured  Constan- 
tinople, and  the  terrible  Mohammed  II.,  mounted  on  horse- 
back, and  sword  in  hand,  rode  through  yonder  high  door, 
and  gave  orders  to  slay  the  thousands  who  had  taken  refuge 
within  those  sacred  walls.  Then  Christian  blood  overflowed 
that  pavement  like  a  sea,  as  men  and  women  and  helpless 
children  were  trampled  down  beneath  the  heels  of  the  cruel 
invaders.  And  so  the  abomination  of  desolation  came  into 
the  holy  place,  and  St.  Sophia  was  given  up  to  the  spoiler. 
His  first  act  was  to  destroy  every  trace  of  its  Christian  use ; 
to  take  away  the  vessels  of  the  sanctuary,  as  of  old  they  were 
taken  from  the  temple  at  Jerusalem ;  to  cover  up  the  beauti- 
ful mosaics  in  the  ceiling  and  on  the  walls,  that  for  so  many 
centuries  had  looked  down  on  Christian  worshippers ;  and  to 
cut  out  the  cross.  I  observed,  in  going  round  the  spacious 
galleries,  that  wherever  the  sign  of  the  cross  had  been  carved 
in  the  ancient  marble,  it  had  been  chiselled  away.  Thus  the 
usurping  Moslems  had  striven  to  obliterate  every  trace  of 
Christian  worship.  The  sight  of  such  desecration  gave  me  a 
bitter  feeling,  only  relieved  by  the  assurance  which  I  felt 
then,  and  feel  now,  that  that  sign  shall  be  restored^  and  that 
the  Cross  shall  yet  fly  above  the  Crescent,  not  only  over  the 
great  temple  of  St.  Sophia,  but  over  all  the  domes  and 
minarets  of  Constantinople. 

For  the  pleasure  of  contrast  to  so  much  that  is  dark  and 
sombre,  I  cannot  close  this  picture  without  turning  to  one 
bright  spot,  one  hopeful  sign,  that  is  like  a  bit  of  green  grass 
springing  up  amid  the  moss-covered  ruins  of  a  decaying  empire. 


316  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

As  it  is  a  relief  to  come  out  from  under  the  gloomy  arches 
of  St.  Sophia  into  the  warm  sunshine,  so  is  it  to  turn  away 
from  a  creed  of  Fatalism,  which  speaks  only  of  decay  and 
death,  to  that  better  faith  which  has  in  it  the  new  life 
of  the  world.  The  Christian  religion  was  born  in  the  East, 
and  carried  by  early  apostolic  missionaries  to  western  Europe, 
where  it  laid  the  foundation  of  great  nations  and  empires ; 
and  in  after  centuries  was  borne  across  the  seas ;  and  now, 
in  these  later  ages  it  is  brought  back  to  the  East  by  men  from 
the  West.  In  this  work  of  restoring  Christianity  to  its 
ancient  seats,  the  East  is  indebted,  not  only  to  Christian 
England,  but  to  Christian  America. 

From  the  very  beginning  of  American  missions,  Constan- 
tinople was  fixed  upon  as  a  centre  of  operations  for  the  East, 
and  the  American  Board  sent  some  of  its  picked  men  to  the 
Turkish  capital.  Here  came  at  an  early  day  Drs.  Dwight 
and  Goodell,  and  Biggs  and  Schauffler.  The  first  two  of 
these  have  passed  away  ;  Dr.  Schauffler,  after  rendering  long 
service,  is  now  spending  the  evening  of  his  days  with  his  son 
in  Austria ;  Dr.  Biggs,  the  venerable  translator  of  the 
Bible,  alone  remains.  These  noble  men  have  been  succeeded 
by  others  who  are  worthy  to  follow  in  their  footsteps.  Dr. 
Wood  was  here  many  years  ago,  and  after  being  transferred 
for  a  few  years  to  New  York,  as  the  Secretary  of  the  Ameri- 
can Board  in  that  city,  has  now  returned  to  the  scene  of  his 
former  labors,  where  he  has  entered  with  ardor  into  that 
missionary  work  which  he  loved  so  well.  With  him  are 
associated  a  number  of  men  whose  names  are  well  known  and 
highly  honored  in  America. 

The  efficiency  of  these  men  has  been  greatly  increased  by 
proper  organization,  and  by  having  certain  local  centres  and 
institutions  to  rally  about.  In  the  heart  of  old  Stamboul  stands 
the  Bible  House,  a  noble  monument  of  American  liberality. 
The  money  was  raised  chiefly  by  the  efforts  of  Dr.  Isaac  Bliss, 
and  certainly  he  never  spent  a  year  of  his  life  to  better  pur- 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  317 

pose.  It  cost,  with  the  ground,  about  sixty  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  when  I  saw  what  a  large  and  handsome  building  it 
was,  I  thought  it  a  miracle  of  economy.  This  is  a  rallying 
point  for  the  missionaries  in  and  around  Constantinople. 
Here  is  a  depot  for  the  sale  of  Bibles  in  all  the  languages 
of  the  East,  and  the  offices  for  different  departments  of 
work  ;  and  of  the  Treasurer,  who  has  charge  of  paying  the 
missionaries,  and  who  thus  distributes  every  year  about  one- 
third  of  all  the  expenditures  of  the  American  Board.  Here, 
too,  is  done  the  editing  and  printing  of  different  publications. 
1  found  Rev.  Mr.  Greene  editing  three  or  four  papers  in  dif- 
ferent languages,  for  children  and  for  adults.  Of  course  the 
circulation  of  any  of  these  is  not  large,  as  we  reckon  the  cir- 
culation of  papers  in  America ;  but  all  combined,  it  is  large, 
and  such  issues  going  forth  every  week  scatter  the  seeds  of 
truth  all  over  the  Turkish  Empire. 

Another  institution  founded  by  the  liberality  of  American 
Christians  is  the  Home  at  Scutari,  a  seminary  for  the  educa- 
tion of  girls.  It  has  been  in  operation  for  several  years  with 
much  success,  and  now  a  new  building  has  been  erected,  the 
money  for  which — fifty  thousand  dollars — was  given  wholly 
by  the  women  of  America.  Would  that  all  who  have  had  a  hand 
in  raising  that  structure  could  see  it,  now  that  it  is  completed. 
It  stands  on  a  hill,  which  commands  a  view  of  all  Constantino- 
ple, and  of  the  adjacent  waters,  far  out  into  the  Sea  of  Marmora. 
Around  this  Home,  as  a  centre,  are  settled  a  number  of  mis- 
sionary families — Dr.  Wood,  who,  besides  his  other  work,  has 
its  general  oversight ;  Mr.  Pettibone,  the  efficient  Treasurer ; 
Drs.  Edwin  and  Isaac  Bliss  ;  and  Mr.  Dwight,  a  son  of  the 
former  missionary ;  who,  with  the  ladies  engaged  in  teaching 
in  the  Home,  form  together  as  delightful  a  circle  as  one  can 
meet  in  any  part  of  the  missionary  world. 

The  day  that  we  made  our  visit  to  the  Home,  we  went  to 
witness  the  performance  of  the  Howling  Dervishes,  who  ha^e 
a  weekly  howl  at  Scutari,  and  in  witnessing  the  jumpings  and 


318  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

contortions  of  these  men,  who  seemed  more  like  wild  beasts 
than  rational  beings,  I  could  not  but  contrast  the  disgusting 
spectacle  with  the  very  different  scene  that  I  had  witnessed 
that  morning — a  scene  of  order,  of  quiet,  and  of  peace — as 
the  young  girls  recited  with  so  much  intelligence,  and  sang 
their  beautiful  hymns.  That  is  the  difference  between  Mo- 
hammedanism and  that  purer  religion  which  our  missionaries 
are  seeking  to  introduce. 

But  they  are  not  allowed  to  work  unopposed.  The 
Government  is  hostile,  and  though  it  pretends  to  give  tolera- 
tion and  protection,  it  would  be  glad  to  suspend  the  mission- 
ary operations  altogether.  But  it  is  itself  too  dependent  on 
foreign  powers  for  support,  to  dare  to  do  much  openly  that 
might  offend  them.  We  are  fortunate  in  having  at  this  time, 
as  the  representative  of  our  Go^vi  nment,  such  a  man  as  the 
Hon.  Horace  Maynard,  who  is  not  only  a  true  American,  but 
a  true  Christian,  and  whose  dignity  and  firmness,  united 
with  tact  and  courtesy,  have  secured  to  our  mission- 
aries that  protection  to  which  they  are  entitled  as  American 
citizens. 

The  Home  has  just  been  completed,  and  is  to  be  opened 
on  Thanksgiving  Day  with  appropriate  services,  at  which  we 
are  invited  to  be  present,  but  the  dreaded  spectre  of  a  long 
quarantine,  on  account  of  the  cholera,  if  we  go  to  Syria, 
compels  us  to  embark  the  day  before  direct  for  Egypt. 
But  though  absent  in  body,  we  shall  be  there  in  spirit,  and 
shall  long  remember  with  the  greatest  interest  and  satisfac- 
tion our  visit  to  the  Home  at  Scutari,  which  is  doing  so 
much  for  the  daughters  of  Turkey. 

Last,  but  not  least,  of  the  monuments  of  American  liberal- 
ity in  and  around  Constantinople,  is  the  College  at  Bebek, 
which  owes  its  existence  chiefly  to  that  far-sighted  missionary, 
Dr.  Cyrus  Hamlin,  and  to  which  Mr.  Christopher  B.  Bobert 
of  New  York  has  given  two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and 
which  fitly  bears  his  honored  name.     It  stands  on  a  high  hill 


CONSTANTINOPLE.  319 

overlooking   the  Bosphorus,  from  which  one  may    see   for 
miles  along  the  shores  of  Europe  and  Asia. 

The  college  is  solidly  built,  of  gray  stone.  It  is  a  quad- 
rangle with  a  court  in  the  centre,  around  which  are  the  lec- 
ture rooms,  the  library,  apparatus-room,  etc.  In  the  base- 
ment is  the  large  dining-room,  while  in  the  upper  story  are 
the  dormitories.  It  is  very  efficiently  organized,  with  Dr. 
Washburn,  long  a  missionary  in  Constantinople,  as  President, 
and  Profs.  Long  and  Grosvenor,  and  other  teachers.  There 
are  nearly  two  hundred  students  from  all  parts  of  Turkey, 
the  largest  number  from  any  one  province  being  from  Bulgaria. 
The  course  of  study  is  pretty  much  the  same  as  in  our  Amer- 
ican Colleges.  Half  a  dozen  or  more  different  languages  are 
spoken  by  the  students,  but  in  the  impossibility  of  adopting 
any  one  of  the  native  languages  as  the  medium  of  instruction, 
the  teaching  is  in  English,  which  has  the  double  advantage 
of  being  more  convenient  for  the  instructors,  and  of  educat- 
ing the  students  in  a  knowledge  of  the  English  tongue.  The 
advantage  of  such  an  institution  is  immeasurable.  I  confess 
to  a  little  American  pride  as  I  observed  the  fact,  that  in  all 
the  mighty  Turkish  Empire  the  only  institution  in  which 
a  young  man  could  get  a  thorough  education  was  in  the 
American  College  at  Bebek,  except  in  one  other  college — 
also  founded  by  American  missionaries,  and  established  by 
American  liberality — that  at  Beirut. 

Grouped  around  the  College  at  Bebek  is  another  missionary 
circle,  like  the  one  at  Scutari.  Besides  the  families  of  the 
President  and  Professors,  Mr.  Greene  of  the  Bible  House 
lives  here,  going  up  and  down  every  day.  Here  are  the  mis- 
sionaries Herrick  and  Byington.  A  number  of  English 
families  live  here,  as  a  convenient  point  near  Constantinople, 
making  altogether  quite  a  large  Protestant  community. 
There  is  an  English  church,  where  Rev.  Mr.  Millingen 
preaches  every  Sabbath  morning,  preaching  also  at  Pera  in 
the  afternoon. 


320  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

It  is  cheering  indeed,  amid  so  much  that  is  dark  in  the 
East,  to  see  so  many  bright  points  in  and  around  Constanti- 
nople. 

Perhaps  those  wise  observers  of  passing  events,  to  whom 
nothing  is  important  except  public  affairs,  may  think  this 
notice  of  missionary  operations  quite  unworthy  to  be  spoken 
of  along  with  the  political  changes  and  the  military  campaigns 
which  now  attract  the  eye  of  the  world  to  Turkey.  But 
movements  which  make  the  most  noise  are  not  always 
the  most  potent  as  causes,  or  the  most  enduring  in  their 
effects.  When  Paul  was  brought  to  Rome  (and  cast,  accord- 
ing to  tradition,  into  the  Mamertine  prison,)  Nero  living  in 
his  Golden  House  cared  little  for  the  despised  Jew,  and  per- 
haps did  not  even  know  of  his  existence.  But  three  centuries 
passed,  and  the  faith  which  Paul  introduced  into  Borne 
ascended  the  throne  of  the  Caesars.  So  our  missionaries  in 
the  East — on  the  Bosphorus,  in  the  interior  of  Asia  Minor, 
and  on  the  Tigris  and  the  Euphrates — are  sowing  the  seed 
of  future  harvests.  Many  years  ago  I  heard  Mr.  George  P. 
Marsh,  the  United  States  minister  at  Constantinople,  now 
at  Rome,  say  that  the  American  missionaries  in  the  Turkish 
Empire  were  doing  a  work  the  full  influence  of  which  could 
not  be  seen  in  many  years,  perhaps  not  in  this  generation. 
A  strange  course  of  events  indeed  it  would  be  if  these  men 
from  the  farthest  West  were  to  be  the  instruments  of  bring- 
ing back  Christianity  to  its  ancient  seats  in  the  farthest 
East !  That  would  be  paying  the  debt  of  former  ages,  by 
giving  back  to  the  Old  World  what  it  has  given  to  us ;  and 
paying  it  with  interest,  since  along  with  the  religion  that  was 
born  in  Bethlehem  of  Judea,  would  be  brought  back  to 
these  shores,  not  only  the  gospel  of  good-will  among  men, 
but  all  the  progress  in  government  and  in  civilization  which 
mankind  has  made  in  eighteen  centuries. 


THE   SULTAN   ABDUL  AZIZ.  321 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    SULTAN   ABDUL   AZIZ. 

Whoever  comes  to  Constantinople  must  behold  the  face  of 
the  Sultan,  if  he  would  see  the  height  of  all  human  glory. 
Other  European  sovereigns  are  but  men ;  but  he  is  the  in- 
carnation of  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  temporal  power.  He  is 
not  only  the  ruler  of  a  State,  but  the  head  of  a  religion. 
What  the  Pope  is  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  the  Sultan 
is  to  Islamism.  He  is  the  Caliph  to  whom  all  the  followers 
of  the  Prophet  in  Asia  and  Africa  look  up  with  reverence 
as  their  heaven-appointed  leader.  But  though  so  great  a 
being,  he  does  not  keep  himself  invisible,  like  the  Brother 
of  the  Sun  and  Moon  in  China.  Once  a  week  he  makes  a 
public  appearance.  Every  Friday,  which  is  the  Mohamme- 
dan Sabbath,  he  goes  in  great  state  to  the  mosque,  and  then 
whosoever  will  approach  may  gaze  on  the  brightness  of  his 
face.  This  is  one  of  the  spectacles  of  Constantinople.  It 
is  indeed  a  brilliant  pageant,  not  to  be  overlooked  by  those 
who  would  see  an  exhibition  of  Oriental  pomp  and  magnifi- 
cence. Sometimes  the  Sultan  goes  to  mosque  by  water,  in  a 
splendid  barge  covered  with  gold,  and  as  soon  as  he  takes 
his  seat  under  a  canopy,  all  the  ships  of  war  lying  in  the  Bos- 
phorus  fire  salutes,  making  the  shores  ring  with  their  re- 
peated thunders.  At  other  times  he  goes  on  horseback, 
attended  by  a  large  cavalcade,  as  when  we  saw  him  last 
Friday. 

We  took  an  open  barouche  with  our  dragoman  as  guide, 
and  drove  a  little    before  noon  to   the  neighborhood  of  the 
palace,  where  we  found  a  crowd  already  assembled  in  front 
H* 


322  THE    SULTAN    ABDUL   AZIZ. 

of  the  gates,  and  a  brilliant  staff  of  officers  in  -waiting. 
Troops  were  drawn  up  on  both  sides  of  the  street  by  which 
the  Sultan  was  to  pass.  Laborers  were  busy  covering  it 
with  sand,  that  even  his  horse's  feet  might  not  touch  the 
common  earth.  While  awaiting  his  appearance  we  drove  up 
and  down  to  observe  the  crowd.  Carriages  filled  with  the 
beauties  of  the  harems  of  different  pashas  were  moving  slowly 
along,  that  they  might  enjoy  the  sight,  for  their  secluded 
life  does  not  extinguish  their  feminine  curiosity.  Very  pale 
and  languid  beauties  they  were,  as  one  might  see  through 
their  thin  gauze  veils,  their  pallid  expressionless  faces  not 
relieved  by  their  dull  dark  eyes.  Adjoining  the  palace  of 
the  Sultan  is  that  of  his  harem,  where  we  observed  a  great 
number  of  eunuchs  standing  in  front,  tall,  strapping  fellows, 
black  as  night,  (they  are  generally  Nubian  slaves  brought 
from  the  upper  Nile,)  but  very  well  dressed  in  European 
costume,  with  faultless  frock  coats,  and  who  evidently  felt  a 
pride  in  their  position  as  attendants  on  the  Imperial  house- 
hold. 

While  observing  these  strange  figures,  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet  and  the  hurrying  of  soldiers  to  their  ranks,  told 
that  the  Sultan  was  about  to  move.  "  Far  off  his  coming 
shone."  Looking  back  we  saw  a  great  stir  about  the  palace 
gates,  out  of  which  issued  a  large  retinue,  making  a  dazzling 
array,  as  the  sun  was  reflected  from  their  trappings  of  gold. 
And  now  a  ringing  cheer  from  the  troops  told  that  their 
sovereign  had  appeared.  We  drew  up  by  the  side  of  the 
street  "  to  see  great  Csesar  pass."  First  came  a  number  of 
high  officers  of  State  in  brilliant  dress,  their  horses  mounted 
with  rich  trappings.  These  passed,  and  there  was  an  open 
space,  as  if  no  other  presence  were  worthy  to  precede  near 
at  hand  the  august  majesty  that  was  to  follow  j  and  on  a 
magnificent  white  charger  appeared  the  Sultan.  The 
drums  beat,  the  bands  played,  the  troops  presented  arms,  and 
cheers  ran  along  the  line.     But  I  hardly  noticed  this,  for  my 


THE    SULTAN   ABDUL  AZIZ.  323 

eye  was  fixed  on  the  central  figure,  which  I  confess  answered 
very  well  to  my  idea  of  an  Oriental  sovereign.  It  is  said 
that  the  Sultan  never  looks  so  well  as  on  horseback,  as  his 
rather  heavy  person  then  appears  to  the  best  advantage.  He 
wore  no  insignia  of  his  rank,  not  even  a  military  cap  or  a 
waving  plume,  but  the  universal  fez,  with  only  a  star  glittering 
with  diamonds  on  his  breast.  Slowly  he  passed,  his  horse 
never  moving  out  of  a  walk,  but  stepping  proudly  as  if  con- 
scious of  the  dignity  of  his  rider,  who  held  himself  erect,  as 
if  disdaining  the  earth  on  which  he  rode  ;  not  bowing  to 
the  right  or  left,  recognizing  no  one,  and  betraying  no  emo- 
tion at  the  sight  of  the  crowd,  or  the  cheers  of  his  soldiers, 
or  the  music  of  the  band,  but  silent,  grave  and  stern,  as  one 
who  allowed  no  familiarity,  who  was  accustomed  to  speak 
only  to  be  obeyed. 

He  passed,  and  dismounting  on  the  marble  steps  of  the 
mosque,  which  had  been  spread  with  a  carpet,  ascended  by 
stairs  to  a  private  gallery,  which  was  screened  from  the  rest 
of  the  building,  like  a  box  in  a  theatre,  where  he  bowed  him- 
self and  repeated  that  "  God  is  God,  and  Mohammed  is  his 
prophet,"  and  whatever  other  form  of  prayer  is  provided  for 
royal  sinners. 

But  his  devotions  were  not  very  long  or  painful.  In  half 
an  hour  he  had  confessed  his  sins,  or  paid  his  adoration,  and 
stepped  into  a  carriage  drawn  by  four  horses  to  return.  As 
he  drove  by  he  turned  towards  us,  his  attention  perhaps  being 
attracted  by  seeing  a  carriage  filled  with  foreigners,  and  we  had 
a  full  view  of  his  face.  He  looked  older  than  I  expected  to  see 
him.  Though  not  yet  fifty,  his  beard,  which  is  clipped  short, 
is  quite  gray.  But  his  face  is  without  expression.  It  is 
heavy  and  dull,  not  lighted  up  either  by  intelligence  or  benev- 
olence. The  carriage  rolled  into  the  gates  of  the  palace,  and 
the  pageant  was  ended. 

Such  was  the  public  appearance  of  the  Sultan.  But  an 
actor  is  often  very   different  behind  the  scenes.     A  tragic 


324  THE    SULTAN   ABDUL   AZIZ. 

hero  may  play  the  part  of  Caesar,  and  stride  across  the  stage 
as  if  he  wrere  the  lord  of  nations,  and  drop  into  nothing 
when  he  takes  off  his  royal  robes,  and  speaks  in  his  natural 
voice.  So  the  Sultan,  though  he  appears  well  on  horseback, 
and  rides  royally — though  he  has  the  look  of  majesty  and  "his 
bend  doth  awe  the  world  " — yet  when  he  retires  into  his 
palace  is  found  to  be  only  a  man,  and  a  very  weak  man  at 
that.  He  has  not  in  him  a  single  element  of  greatness. 
Though  he  comes  of  a  royal  race,  and  has  in  his  veins  the 
blood  of  kings  and  conquerors,  he  does  not  inherit  the  high 
qualities  of  his  ancestors.  Some  of  the  Sultans  have  been 
truly  great  men,  born  to  be  conquerors  as  much  as  Alexan- 
der or  Napoleon.  The  father  of  the  present  Sultan,  Mah- 
moud  II.,  was  a  man  of  force  and  determination,  one  worthy 
to  be  called  the  Grand  Turk,  as  he  showed  by  the  way  in 
which  he  disposed  of  the  Janissaries.  This  was  a  military 
body  that  had  become  all-powerful  at  Constantinople,  being 
at  once  the  protectors  of  the  Sultan,  and  his  masters — setting 
him  up  and  putting  him  down,  at  their  will.  Two  of  his 
predecessors  they  had  assassinated,  and  he  might  have  shared 
the  same  fate,  if  he  had  not  anticipated  them.  But  prepar- 
ing  himself  secretly,  with  troops  on  which  he  could  rely,  as 
soon  as  he  was  strong  enough  he  brought  the  conflict  to  an 
issue,  and  literally  exterminated  the  Janissaries  (besieging 
them  in  their  barracks,  and  hunting  them  like  dogs  in  the 
streets)  as  Mehemet  Ali  had  massacred  the  Mamelukes  in 
Egypt.  Then  the  Sultan  was  free,  and  had  a  long  and  pros- 
perous reign.  He  ruled  with  an  iron  hand,  but  though  des- 
potically, yet  on  the  whole  wisely  and  well.  Had  he  been 
living  now,  Turkey  would  not  be  in  the  wretched  condition 
in  which  she  is  to-day.  What  a  contrast  between  this  old 
lion  of  the  desert,  and  the  poor,  weak  man  who  now  sits  in 
his  seat,  and  who  sees  the  sceptre  of  empire  dropping  from 
his  feeble  hands  ! 

The  Sultan  is  a  man   of  very   small   capacity.     Though 


THE    SULTAN    ABDUL   AZIZ.  325 

occupying  one  of  the  most  exalted  positions  in  the  world,  he 
has  no  corresponding  greatness  of  mind,  no  large  ideas  of 
things.  He  is  not  capable  of  forming  any  wise  scheme  of 
public  policy,  or  any  plan  of  government  whatever,  or  of 
pursuing  it  with  determination.  He  likes  the  pomp  of  roy- 
alty (and  is  very  exacting  of  its  etiquette),  without  having 
the  cares  of  government.  To  ride  in  state,  to  be  surrounded 
with  awe  and  reverence,  suits  his  royal  taste;  but  to  be 
u  bored  "  with  details  of  administration,  to  concern  himself 
with  the  oppressions  of  this  or  that  pasha  in  this  or  that 
province,  is  quite  beneath  his  dignity. 

The  only  thing  in  which  he  seems  to  be  truly  great,  is  in 
spending  money.  For  this  his  capacity  is  boundless.  No 
child  could  throw  away  money  in  more  senseless  extrava- 
gance. The  amount  taken  for  his  Civil  List — that  is,  for  his 
personal  expenses  and  for  his  household — is  something 
enormous.  His  great  father,  old  Mahmoud  II. ,  managed  to 
keep  up  his  royal  state  on  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year  ; 
but  it  is  said  that  this  man  cannot  be  satisfied  with  less  than 
two  millions  sterling,  which  is  more  than  the  civil  list  of  any 
other  sovereign  in  Europe.  Indeed  nobody  knows  how  much 
he  spends.  His  Civil  List  is  an  unfathomable  abyss,  into 
which  are  thrown  untold  sums  of  money. 

Then  too,  like  a  true  Oriental,  he  has  magnificent  tastes 
in  the  way  of  architecture,  and  for  years  his  pet  folly  has 
been  the  building  of  new  palaces  along  the  Bosphorus. 
Although  he  had  many  already,  the  greater  part  unoccupied, 
or  used  only  for  occasional  royal  visits,  still  if  some  new 
position  pleased  his  eye,  he  immediately  ordered  a  new  palace 
to  be  built,  even  at  a  fabulous  cost.  Some  of  these  dazzle  the 
traveller  who  has  seen  all  the  royal  palaces  of  Western  Europe. 
To  visit  them  requires  a  special  permission,  but  we  obtained 
access  to  one  by  a  liberal  use  of  money,  and  drove  to  it 
immediately  after  we  had  seen  the  Sultan  going  to  mosque. 
It  is  called  the  Cheragan  Palace,  and  stands  just  above  that 


326  THE    SULTAN   ABDUL   AZIZ. 

which  the  Sultan  occupies.  It  is  of  very  great  extent,  and 
built  of  white  stone,  and  as  it  faces  the  Bosphorus,  it  seems 
like  a  fairy  vision  rising  from  the  sea.  The  interior  is  of 
truly  Oriental  magnificence.  It  is  in  the  Moorish  style,  like 
the  Alhambra.  We  passed  through  apartment  after  apart- 
ment, each  more  splendid  than  the  last.  The  eye  almost 
wearies  with  the  succession  of  great  halls  with  columns  of 
richest  marble,  supporting  lofty  ceilings  which  are  finished 
with  beautiful  arabesques,  and  an  elaborateness  of  detail  un- 
known in  any  other  kind  of  architecture.  Articles  of  furni- 
ture are  wrought  of  the  most  precious  woods,  inlaid  with 
costly  stones,  or  with  ivory  and  pearl.  What  must  have 
been  the  cost  of  such  a  fairy  palace,  no  one  knows — not  even 
the  Sultan  himself — but  it  must  have  been  millions  upon 
millions. 

Yet  this  great  palace  is  unoccupied.  When  it  was  finished, 
it  is  said  that  the  Sultan  on  entering  it,  slipped  his  foot,  or 
took  a  cold  (I  have  heard  both  reasons  assigned),  which  so 
excited  his  superstitious  feeling  (he  thought  it  an  omen  of 
death)  that  he  would  not  live  in  it,  and  so  in  a  few  weeks  he 
returned  to  the  palace  which  he  had  occupied  before,  where 
he  has  remained  ever  since.  And  so  this  new  and  costly 
palace  is  empty.  Except  the  attendants  who  showed  us 
about,  we  saw  not  a  human  being.  It  was  not  built  because 
it  was  needed,  but  because  it  gratified  an  Imperial  whim. 

Extravagant  and  foolish  as  this  is,  there  is  no  way  to  pre- 
vent such  follies  when  such  is  the  royal  pleasure,  for  the 
Sultan,  like  many  weak  men — feeble  in  intellect  and  in 
character — is  yet  of  violent  temper,  and  cannot  brook  any 
opposition  to  his  will.  If  he  wants  a  new  palace,  and  the 
Grand  Vizier  tells  him  there  is  no  money  in  the  treasury,  he 
flies  into  a  rage  and  sends  him  about  his  business,  and  calls 
for  another  who  w  ill  find  the  money. 

Yet  the  vices  of  the  Sultan  are  not  all  his  own.  They  are 
those  of  his  position.     What  can  bo  expected  of  a  man  who 


THE    SULTAN  ABDUL   AZIZ.  327 

has  been  accustomed  from  childhood  to  have  his  own  way  in 
everything ;  to  be  surrounded  with  a  state  and  awe,  as  if  he 
were  a  god ;  and  to  have  every  caprice  and  whim  gratified  ? 
it  is  one  of  the  misfortunes  of  his  position  that  he  never 
hears  the  truth  about  anything.  Though  his  credit  in  Europe 
is  gone ;  though  whole  provinces  are  dying  of  famine,  he  is 
not  permitted  to  know  the  unwelcome  truth.  He  is  sur- 
rounded by  courtiers  and  flatterers  whose  interest  it  is  to 
deceive  him,  and  who  are  thus  leading  him  blindly  to  his 
ruin. 

In  his  pleasures  the  Sultan  is  a  man  of  frivolous  tastes, 
rather  than  of  gross  vices.  From  some  vices  he  is  free,  and 
(as  I  would  say  every  good  word  in  his  favor)  I  gladly  record 
this.  He  is  not  a  drunkard  (as  were  some  of  his  predeces- 
sors, in  spite  of  the  Mohammedan  law  against  the  use  of 
strong  drinks)  j  and,  what  is  yet  more  remarkable  for  a 
Turk,  he  does  not  smoke.  But  if  he  does  not  drink,  he  eats 
enormously.  He  is,  like  Cardinal  Wolsey,  "  a  man  of  un- 
bounded stomach,"  and  all  the  resources  of  the  Imperial 
cuisine  are  put  in  requisition  to  satisfy  his  royal  appetite. 
It  is  said  that  when  he  goes  to  the  opera  he  is  followed  by 
a  retinue  of  servants,  bearing  a  load  of  dishes,  so  that  if  per- 
chance between  the  acts  his  sublime  Majesty  should  need  to 
refresh  himself,  he  might  be  satisfied  on  the  instant. 

For  any  higher  pleasures  than  mere  amusements  he  has  no 
taste.  He  is  not  a  man  of  education,  as  Europeans  under- 
stand education,  and  has  no  fondness  for  reading.  In  all  the 
great  palace  I  did  not  see  a  single  book — and  but  one  picture. 
[The  Mohammedans  do  not  like  "  images,"  and  so  with  all 
their  gorgeous  decorations,  one  never  sees  a  picture.  This 
was  probably  presented  to  the  Sultan  from  a  source  which  he 
could  not  refuse.  It  was  a  landscape,  which  might  have 
been  by  our  countryman,  Mr.  Church.]  But  he  does  not 
care  for  these  things.  He  prefers  to  be  amused,  and  is  fond 
of  buffoons  and  dancing  girls,  and    takes  more  delight   in 


328  THE    SULTAN   ABDUL   AZIZ. 

jugglers  and  mountebanks  than  in  the  society  of  the  most  emi- 
nent men  of  science  in  Europe.  A  man  who  has  to  be  treated 
thus — to  be  humored  and  petted,  and  fed  with  sweetmeats — 
is  nothing  more  or  less  than  a  big  baby — a  spoiled  child,  who 
has  to  be  amused  with  playthings.  Yet  on  the  whims  and 
caprices  of  such  a  creature  may  depend  the  fate  of  an  em- 
pire which  is  at  this  moment  in  the  most  critical  situation, 
and  which  needs  the  most  skilful  statesmanship  to  guide  it 
through  its  dangers.  Is  it  that  God  intends  to  destroy  it, 
that  He  has  suffered  such  a  man  to  come  to  the  throne  for 
such  a  time  as  this  ? 

It  is  a  most  instructive  comment  on  the  vanity  of  all 
earthly  things,  that  this  man,  so  fond  of  pleasure,  and  with 
all  the  resources  of  an  empire  at  command,  is  not  happy. 
The  Spanish  Minister  tells  me  that  he  never  saw  him  smile. 
Even  in  his  palace  he  sits  silent  and  gloomy.  Is  it  that  he 
is  brooding  over  some  secret  trouble,  or  feels  coming  over 
him  the  shadow  of  approaching  ruin  ? 

Notwithstanding  all  his  outward  state  and  magnificence, 
there  are  things  which  must  make  him  uneasy ;  which,  like 
Belshazzar's  dream,  must  trouble  him  in  the  midst  of  his 
splendor.  Though  an  absolute  monarch,  he  cannot  have 
everything  according  to  his  will ;  he  cannot  live  forever,  and 
what  is  to  come  after  him  ?  By  the  Mohammedan  law  of 
succession  the  throne  passes  not  to  his  son,  but  to  the  oldest 
male  member  of  the  royal  house — it  may  be  a  brother  or  a 
nephew.  In  this  case  the  heir  apparent  is  Murad  Effendi,  a 
son  of  the  late  Sultan.  But  Abdul  Aziz  (unmindful  of  his 
dead  brother,  or  of  that  brother's  living  son)  is  very  anxious 
to  change  the  order  of  succession  in  favor  of  his  own  son  (as 
the  viceroy  of  Egypt  has  already  done,)  but  he  does  not  quite 
dare  to  encounter  the  hostility  of  the  bigoted  Mussulmans. 
Formerly  it  was  the  custom  of  the  Sultan,  in  coming  to  the 
throne,  to  put  out  of  the  way  all  rivals  or  possible  succes- 
sors, from  collateral  branches  of  the  family,  by  the  easy 


THE    SULTAN   ABDUL   AZIZ.  329 

method  of  assassination.  But  somehow  that  practice,  like 
many  others  of  the  "  good  old  times,"  has  fallen  into  dis- 
use, and  now  he  must  wait  for  the  slow  process  of  nature. 
Meanwhile  Murad  EfFendi  is  kept  in  the  background  as  much 
as  possible.  He  did  not  appear  in  the  procession  to  the 
mosque,  and  is  never  permitted  to  show  himself  in  state, 
while  the  son  of  the  Sultan,  whom  he  would  make  his  heir, 
is  kept  continually  before  the  public.  Though  he  is  person- 
ally insignificant,  both  in  mind  and  in  body,  this  poor  little 
manikin  is  made  the  commander-in-chief  of  tlie  army,  and  is 
always  riding  about  in  great  state,  with  mounted  officers  be- 
hind his  carriage.  All  this  may  make  him  a  prince,  but 
can  never  make  him  a  MAN. 

What  is  to  be  the  future  of  the  Sultan,  who  can  tell  ?  His 
empire  seems  to  be  trembling  on  the  verge  of  existence,  and 
it  is  not  likely  that  he  could  survive  its  fall.  But  if  he 
should  live  many  years  he  may  be  compelled  to  leave  Con- 
stantinople; to  leave  all  his  beautiful  palaces  on  the  Bos- 
phorus,  and  transfer  his  capital  to  some  city  in  Asia. 
Broussa,  in  Asia  Minor,  was  the  former  capital  of  the  Otto- 
man Empire,  before  the  Turks  conquered  Constantinople, 
four  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago,  and  to  that  they  may 
return  again  ;  or  they  may  go  still  farther,  to  the  banks  of 
the  Tigris,  or  the  shores  of  the  Persian  Gulf,  and  the  Sultan 
may  end  his  days  as  the  Caliph  of  Bagdad. 


330  THE   EASTERN   QUESTION. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  EASTERN  QUESTION. — THE  EXODUS  OF  THE  TURKS. 

It  is  impossible  to  be  in  Constantinople  without  having 
forced  upon  us  the  Eastern  Question,  which  is  just  now 
occupying  so  much  of  the  attention  of  Europe.  A  child  can 
ask  questions  which  a  philosopher  cannot  answer,  and  a 
traveller  can  see  dangers  and  difficulties  which  all  the 
wisdom  of  statesmen  cannot  resolve. 

Twenty  years  ago  France  and  England  went  to  war  with 
Kussia  for  the  maintenance  of  Turkey,  and  they  are  now 
beginning  to  ask,  whether  in  this  they  did  not  make  a 
great  mistake  ;  whether  Turkey  was  worth  saving  ?  If  the 
same  circumstances  were  to  arise  again,  it  is  doubtful 
whether  they  would  be  so  ready  to  rush  into  the  field.  All 
over  Europe  there  has  been  a  great  revulsion  of  feeling  caused 
by  the  recent  financial  breakdown  of  Turkey.  Within  a  few 
weeks  she  has  virtually  repudiated  half  the  interest  on  her 
national  debt;  that  is,  she  pays  one-half,  and  funds  the 
other  half,  promising  to  pay  it  five  years  hence.  But  few 
believe  it  will  then  be  paid.  This  has  excited  great  indigna- 
tion in  France  and  England  and  Italy,*  where  millions  of 
Turkish  bonds  are  held,  and  they  ask,  have  we  spent  our 
treasure  and  shed  our  blood  to  bolster  up  a  rotten  state,  a 
state  that  is  utterly  faithless  to  its  engagements,  and  thus 
turns  upon  its  benefactors  ? 

To  tell   the  whole  truth,  these  powers  have  themselves 

*  Italy,  it  will  be  remembered,  joined  the  Allies  against  Russia  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  Crimean  war. 


THE  EXODUS  OF  THE  TURKS.  331 

partly  to  blame  for  having  led  the  Turkish  government  into 
the  easy  and  slippery  ways  of  borrowing  money.  Before  the 
Crimean  war  Turkey  had  no  national  debt.  Whatever  she 
spent  she  wrung  out  of  the  sweat  and  blood  of  her  wretched 
people,  and  left  no  burden  of  hopeless  indebtedness  to  curse 
its  successors. 

But  the  war  brought  great  expenses,  and  having  rich 
allies,  what  so  natural  as  to  borrow  a  few  of  their  superfluous 
millions  ?  Once  begun,  the  operation  had  to  be  repeated 
year  after  year.  Nothing  is  so  seductive  as  the  habit  of 
borrowing  money.  It  is  such  an  easy  way  to  pay  one's  debts 
and  to  gratify  one's  love  of  spending ;  and  as  long  as  one's 
credit  lasts,  he  may  indulge  his  dreams  to  the  very  limit  of 
Oriental  magnificence.  So  the  Sultan  found  it.  He  had  but 
to  contract  a  loan  in  London  or  Paris,  and  he  had  millions  of 
pounds  sterling  to  build  palaces,  and  to  carry  out  every  Im- 
perial desire. 

But  borrowing  money  is  like  taking  opium,  the  dose  must 
be  constantly  increased,  till  finally  the  system  gives  way,  and 
death  ends  the  scene.  Every  year  the  Sultan  had  to  borrow 
more  money  to  pay  the  interest  on  his  debts,  and  to  borrow 
at  ever  increasing  rates;  and  so  at  last  came,  what  always 
comes  as  the  result  of  a  long  course  of  extravagance,  a  com- 
plete collapse  of  money  and  credit  together. 

The  indignation  felt  at  this  would  not  have  been  so  great, 
if  the  money  borrowed  had  been  spent  for  legitimate  objects 
— to  construct  public  works;  to  build  railroads  (which  are 
greatly  needed  to  open  communications  with  the  interior  of 
the  empire) ;  and  to  create  new  branches  of  industry  and 
new  sources  of  wealth.  Turkey  is  a  very  rich  country  in  its 
natural  resources,  rich  in  a  fertile  soil,  rich  in  mines,  with  an 
immense  line  of  sea-coast,  and  great  harbors,  offering  every 
facility  for  commerce  ;  and  it  needs  only  a  very  little  politi- 
cal economy  to  turn  all  these  resources  to  account.  If  the 
money  borrowed  in  England  and  France  had  been  spent  in. 


332  THE    EASTERN   QUESTION. 

building  railroads  all  over  European  Turkey,  in  opening 
mines,  and  in  promoting  agriculture  and  commerce,  the 
country  to-day,  instead  of  being  bankrupt,  would  be  rich  and 
independent,  and  not  compelled  to  ask  the  help  or  the  com- 
passion of  Europe. 

But  instead  of  applying  his  borrowed  money  to  developing 
the  resources  of  his  empire,  there  has  not  been  a  freak  of  folly 
that  the  Sultan  did  not  gratify.  He  has  literally  thrown  his 
money  into  the  Bosphorus,  spending  it  chiefly  for  ships 
on  the  water,  or  palaces  on  the  shore.  I  have  already 
spoken  of  his  passion  for  building  new  palaces.  Next  to  this, 
his  caprice  has  been  the  buying  of  ironclads.  A  few  years 
since,  when  Russia,  taking  advantage  of  the  Franco-German 
war,  which  rendered  France  powerless  to  resist,  nullified 
the  clause  in  the  treaty  made  after  the  Crimean  war,  which 
forbade  her  keeping  a  navy  in  the  Black  Sea,  and  began  to 
show  her  armed  ships  again  in  those  waters,  the  Sultan  seems 
to  have  taken  it  into  his  wise  head  that  she  was  about  to 
attack  Constantinople,  and  immediately  began  preparations 
for  defence  on  land  and  sea.  He  bought  a  million  or  so  of 
the  best  rifles  that  could  be  found  in  Europe  or  America ; 
and  cannon  enough  to  furnish  the  Grand  Army  of  Napo- 
leon ;  and  some  fifteen  tremendous  ships  of  war,  which  have 
cost  nearly  two  millions  of  dollars  apiece.  The  enormous 
folly  of  this  expense  appears  in  this,  that,  in  case  of  war, 
these  ships  would  be  almost  useless.  The  safety  of  Turkey  is 
not  in  such  defences,  but  in  the  fact  that  it  is  for  the  interest 
of  Europe  to  hold  her  up  awhile  longer.  If  once  France  and 
England  were  to  leave  her  to  her  fate,  all  these  ships  would 
not  save  her  against  Russia  coming  from  the  Black  Sea — or 
marching  an  army  overland  and  attacking  Constantinople  in 
the  rear.  But  the  Sultan  would  have  these  ships,  and  here 
they  are.  They  have  been  lying  idle  in  the  Bosphorus  all 
summer,  their  only  use  being  to  fire  salutes  every  Friday 
when  the  Sultan  goes  to  mosque.     They  never  go  to  sea ;   if 


THE  EXODUS  OF  THE  TURKS.  333 

they  did  they  would  probably  not  return,  for  they  are  very 
unwieldy,  and  the  Turks  are  no  sailors,  and  do  not  know  how 
to  manage  them  ;  and  they  would  be  likely  to  sink  in  the 
first  gale.  The  only  voyage  they  make  is  twice  in  the 
year :  once  in  the  spring,  when  they  are  taken  out  of  the 
Golden  Horn  to  be  anchored  in  the  Bosphorus,  a  mile  or  two 
distant — about  as  far  as  from  the  Battery  to  the  Navy  Yard 
in  Brooklyn — and  again  in  the  autumn,  when  they  are  taken 
back  again  to  be  laid  up  for  the  winter.  They  have  just 
made  their  annual  voyage  back  to  their  winter  quarters,  and 
are  now  lying  quietly  in  the  Golden  Horn — not  doing  any 
harm,  nor  any  good  to  anybody. 

Then  not  only  must  the  Sultan  have  a  great  navy,  but  a 
great  army.  Poor  as  Turkey  is,  she  has  one  of  the  largest 
armies  in  Europe.  I  have  found  it  difficult  to  obtain  exact 
statistics.  A  gentleman  who  has  lived  long  in  Constantino- 
ple tells  me  that  they  claim  to  be  able,  in  case  of  war,  to  put 
seven  hundred  thousand  men  under  arms,  but  this  includes 
the  reserves — there  are  perhaps  half  that  number  now  in 
barracks  or  in  camp.  A  hundred  thousand  men  have  been 
sent  to  Herzegovina  to  suppress  the  insurrection  there.  So 
much  does  it  cost  to  extinguish  a  rising  among  a  few  moun- 
taineers in  a  distant  province,  a  mere  strip  of  territory  lying 
far  off  on  the  borders  of  the  Adriatic.  What  a  fearful  drain 
must  the  support  of  all  these  troops  be  upon  the  resources  of 
an  exhausted  empire  ! 

While  thus  bleeding  at  every  pore,  Turkey  takes  no  course 
to  keep  up  a  supply  of  fresh  life-blood.  England  spends  free- 
ly, but  she  makes  freely  also,  and  so  has  always  an  abundant 
revenue  for  her  vast  empire.  So  might  Turkey,  if  she  had 
but  a  grain  of  financial  or  political  wisdom.  But  her  policy 
is  suicidal  in  the  management  of  all  the  great  industries  of 
the  country.  For  example,  the  first  great  interest  is  agri- 
culture, and  this  the  government,  so  far  from  encouraging, 
seems  to  set  itself  to  ruin.     Of  course  the  people  must  till 


334  THE   EASTERN   QUESTION. 

the  ground  to  get  food  to  live.  Of  all  the  produce  of  the 
earth  the  government  takes  one-tenth.  Even  this  might  be 
borne,  if  it  would  only  take  it  and  have  done  with  it,  and 
let  the  poor  peasants  gather  in  the  rest.  But  no ;  after  a 
farmer  has  reaped  his  grain,  he  cannot  store  it  in  his  barn 
until  the  tax-gatherer  has  surveyed  it  and  taken  out  his 
share.  Perhaps  the  official  is  busy  elsewhere,  or  he  is  wait- 
ing for  a  bribe  ;  and  so  it  may  lie  on  the  ground  for  days  or 
weeks,  exposed  to  the  rains  till  the  whole  crop  is  spoiled. 
Such  is  the  beautiful  system  of  political  economy  practised  in 
administering  the  internal  affairs  of  this  country,  which 
nature  has  made  so  rich,  and  man  has  made  so  poor. 

So  as  to  the  fisheries  by  which  the  people  on  the  sea-coast 
live.  All  along  the  Bosphorus  we  saw  them  drawing  their 
nets.  But  we  were  told  that  not  a  single  fish  could  be  sold 
until  the  whole  were  taken  down  to  Constantinople,  a  dis- 
tance of  some  miles,  and  the  government  had  taken  its  share, 
and  then  the  rest  could  be  brought  back  again. 

Another  great  source  of  wealth  to  Turkey — or  which  might 
prove  so — is  its  mines.  The  country  is  very  rich  in  mineral 
resources.  If  it  were  only  farmed  out  to  English  or  Welsh 
miners,  they  would  bring  treasures  out  of  the  earth.  The 
hills  would  be  found  to  be  of  brass,  and  the  mountains  of 
iron.  But  the  Turkish  government  does  nothing.  It  keeps 
a  few  men  at  work,  just  enough  to  scratch  the  surface  here 
and  there,  but  leaving  the  vast  wealth  that  is  in  the  "bowels 
of  the  earth  untouched. 

And  not  only  will  it  do  nothing  itself,  but  it  will  not  allow 
anybody  else  to  do  anything.  Never  did  a  great  government 
play  more  completely  the  part  of  the  dog  in  the  manger. 
For  years  English  capitalists  have  been  trying  to  get  per- 
mission to  work  certain  mines,  offering  to  pay  millions  of 
pounds  for  the  concession.  If  once  opportunity  were  given, 
and  they  were  sure  of  protection,  that  their  property  would 
not  be  confiscated,  English  wealth  would  flow  into  Turkey  in 


THE   EXODUS   OF   THE   TURKS.  335 

a  constant  stream.  But  on  the  contrary  the  government  puts 
every  obstacle  in  their  way.  With  the  bigotry  and  stupidi- 
ty of  its  race,  it  is  intensely  jealous  of  foreigners,  even  while 
it  exists  only  by  foreign  protection — and  its  policy  is,  not 
only  not  one  of  progress — it  is  absolutely  one  of  obstruction. 
If  it  would  only  get  out  of  the  way  and  let  foreign  enterprise 
and  capital  come  in,  it  might  reap  the  benefit.  But  it  op- 
poses everything.  Only  a  few  days  since  a  meeting  was 
held  here  of  foreign  capitalists,  who  were  ready  and  anxious 
to  put  their  money  into  Turkish  mines  to  an  almost  unlimit- 
ed extent,  but  they  all  declared  that  the  restrictions  were  so 
many,  and  the  requirements  so  complicated  and  vexatious, 
and  so  evidently  intended  to  prevent  anything  being  done, 
that  it  was  quite  hopeless  to  attempt  it. 

But,  although  this  is  very  bad  political  economy,  yet  it  is 
not  in  itself  alone  a  reason  why  a  nation  should  be  given  up 
as  beyond  saving,  if  it  were  capable  of  learning  wisdom  by 
experience.  Merely  getting  in  debt,  though  it  is  always  a 
bad  business,  is  not  in  itself  a  sign  of  hopeless  decay.  Many 
a  young  and  vigorous  state  has  at  the  beginning  spent  all  its 
substance,  like  the  prodigal  son,  in  riotous  living,  but  after 
"  sowing  its  wild  oats,"  has  learned  wisdom  by  experience, 
and  settled  down  to  a  course  of  hard  labor,  and  so  come  up 
again.  But  Turkey  is  the  prodigal  son  without  his  repent- 
ance. It  is  continually  wasting  its  substance,  and,  although 
it  may  have  now  and  then  fitful  spasms  of  repentance  as  it 
feels  the  pangs  of  hunger,  it  gives  not  one  sign  of  a  change  of 
heart,  a  real  internal  reform,  and  a  return  to  a  clean,  pure, 
healthy  and  wholesome  life. 

Is  there  any  hope  of  anything  better?  Not  the  least. 
Just  now  there  is  some  feeling  in  official  circles  of  the  degra- 
dation and  weakness  shown  in  the  late  bankruptcy,  and  there 
are  loud  professions  that  they  are  going  to  "reform."  But 
everybody  who  has  lived  in  Turkey  knows  what  these  pro- 
fessions mean.     It  is  a  little  spasm  of  virtue,  which  will  soon 


336  THE   EASTERN   QUESTION. 

be  forgotten.  The  Sultan  may  not  indeed  throw  away  money 
quite  so  reckbssly  as  before,  but  only  because  he  cannot  get 
it.  He  is  at  the  end  of  his  rope.  His  credit  is  gone  in  all 
the  markets  of  Europe,  and  nobody  will  lend  him  a  dollar. 
Yet  he  is  at  this  very  moment  building  a  mosque  that  is  to 
cost  two  millions  sterling,  and  if  there  were  the  least  let-up 
in  the  pressure  on  him,  he  would  resume  the  same  course 
of  folly  and  extravagance  as  ever.  No  one  is  so  lavish  with 
money  as  the  man  who  does  not  pretend  to  pay  his  debts. 
He  cannot  change  his  nature.  "  Can  the  Ethiopian  change 
his  skin,  or  the  leopard  his  spots  ?  "  The  Turk,  like  the 
Pope,  never  changes.  It  is  constitutionally  impossible  for 
him  to  reform,  or  to  "  go  ahead  "  in  anything.  His  ideas  are 
against  it ;  his  very  physical  habits  are  against  it.  A  man 
who  is  always  squatting  on  his  legs,  and  smoking  a  long  pipe, 
cannot  run  very  fast ;  and  the  only  thing  for  him  to  do,  when 
the  pressure  of  modern  civilization  becomes  too  great  for  him, 
is  to  "  bundle  up  "  and  get  out  of  the  way. 

Thus  there  is  in  Turkey  not  a  single  element  of  hope;  there 
is  no  internal  force  which  may  be  a  cause  of  political  regen- 
eration. It  is  as  impossible  to  infuse  life  into  this  moribund 
state  as  it  would  be  to  raise  the  dead.  I  have  met  a  great 
many  Europeans  in  Constantinople — some  of  whom  have 
Jived  here  ten,  twenty,  thirty,  or  even  forty  years — and  have 
not  found  one  who  did  not  consider  the  condition  of  Turkey 
absolutely  hopeless,  and  its  disappearance  from  the  map  of 
Europe  only  a  question  of  time. 

But  if  for  purely  economical  reasons  Turkey  has  to  be 
given  up  as  utterly  rotten  and  going  to  decay,  how  much 
darker  does  the  picture  appear  when  we  consider  the  tyranny 
and  corruption,  the  impossibility  of  obtaining  justice,  and 
the  oppression  of  the  Christian  populations.  A  horde  of 
officials  is  quartered  on  the  country,  that  eat  out  the  sub- 
stance of  the  land,  and  set  no  bounds  to  their  rapacity ;  who 
plunder  the  people  so  that  they  are  reduced  to  the  extreme 


THE  EXODUS  OF  THE  TURKS.  337 

point  of  misery.  The  taxation  is  so  heavy  that  it  drains  the 
very  life-blood  out  of  a  poor  and  wretched  people — and  this 
is  often  aggravated  by  the  most  wanton  oppression  and 
cruelty.  Such  stories  have  moved,  as  they  justly  may,  the 
indignation  of  Europe. 

Such  is  the  present  state  of  Turkey — universal  corruption 
and  oppression,  and  things  going  all  the  time  from  bad  to 
worse. 

And  yet  this  wretched  Government  rules  over  the  fairest 
portion  of  the  globe.  The  Turkish  Empire  is  territorially 
the  finest  in  the  world.  Half  in  Europe  and  half  in  Asia, 
it  extends  over  many  degrees  of  latitude  and  longitude,  in- 
cluding many  countries  and  many  climates,  "  spanning  the 
vast  arch  from  Bagdad  to  Belgrade." 

Can  such  things  continue,  and  such  a  power  be  allowed  to 
hold  the  fairest  portion  of  the  earth's  surface,  for  all  time  to 
come? 

It  seems  impossible.  The  position  of  Turkey  is  certainly 
an  anomaly.  It  is  an  Asiatic  power  planted  in  Europe. 
It  is  a  Mohammedan  power  ruling  over  millions  of  Christians. 
It  is  a  government  of  Turks — that  is  of  Tartars — over  men 
of  a  better  race  as  well  as  a  purer  religion.  It  is  a  govern- 
ment of  a  minority  over  a  majority.  The  Mohammedans, 
the  ruling  caste,  are  only  about  one-quarter  of  the  population 
of  European  Turkey — some  estimates  make  it  much  less,  but 
where  there  is  no  accurate  census,  it  must  be  a  matter  of 
conjecture.  It  is  a  power  occupying  the  finest  situation 
in  the  world,  where  two  continents  touch,  and  two  great 
seas  mingle  their  waters,  yet  sitting  there  on  the  Bos- 
phorus  only  to  hold  the  gates  of  Europe  and  Asia,  and 
oppose  a  fixed  and  immovable  barrier  to  the  progress  of  the 
nations. 

What  then  shall  be  done  with  the  Grand  Turk?  The 
feeling  is  becoming  universal  that  he  must  be  driven  out  of 
Europe,  back  into  Asia  from  which  he  came.  This  would  solve 
15 


338  THE    EASTERN    QUESTION. 

the  Eastern  Question  in  part,  but  only  in  part,  for  after  he 
is  gone  what  power  is  to  take  his  place  ? 

The  solution  would  be  comparatively  easy,  if  there  were 
any  independent  State  near  at  hand  to  succeed  to  the  vacant 
sceptre.  When  a  rich  man  dies,  there  are  always  plenty  of 
heirs  ready  to  step  in  and  take  possession  of  the  property. 
The  Greeks  would  willingly  transfer  their  capital  from  Athens 
to  Constantinople.  The  Armenians  think  themselves  numerous 
enough  to  form  a  State,  but  the  Greeks  and  the  Armenians 
hate  each  other  more  even  than  their  common  oppressor. 
Russia  has  not  a  doubt  on  the  subject,  that  she  is  the  proper 
and  rightful  heir  to  the  throne  of  the  Sultan.  The  possession 
of  European  Turkey  would  just  "  round  out  "  her  territory, 
so  that  her  Empire  should  be  bounded  only  by  the  seas — the 
Baltic  and  the  White  Sea  on  the  North,  and  the  Black  Sea 
and  the  Mediterranean  on  the  South.  But  that  is  just  the 
solution  of  the  question  which  all  the  rest  of  Europe  is  de- 
termined to  prevent.  Austria,  driven  out  of  Germany, 
thinks  it  would  be  highly  proper  that  she  should  be  indemni- 
fied by  an  addition  to  her  territory  on  the  south;  while  the 
Danubian  principalities,  Moldavia  and  Wallachia  (now  united 
under  the  title  of  Roumania)  and  Servia,  which  are  taking 
their  first  lessons  in  independence,  think  that  they  will  soon 
be  sufficiently  educated  in  the  difficult  art  of  government  to 
take  possession  of  the  whole  Ottoman  Empire.  Among  so 
many  rival  claimants  who  shall  decide  ?  Perhaps  if  it  were 
put  to  vote,  they  would  all  prefer  to  remain  under  the  Turk, 
rather  than  that  the  coveted  prize  should  go  to  a  rival. 

Herein  lies  the  difficulty  of  the  Eastern  Question,  which 
no  European  statesman  is  wise  enough  to  resolve.  There  is 
still  another  solution  possible  :  that  Turkey  should  be  divided 
as  Poland  was,  giving  a  province  or  two  on  the  Danube  to 
Austria ;  and  another  on  the  Black  Sea  to  Russia  ;  and.  Syria 
to  Egypt ;  while  the  Sultan  took  up  his  residence  in  Asia 
Minor ;  and  making  Constantinople  a  f»ee  city  (as  Hamburg 


THE  EXODUS  OF  THE  TURKS.  339 

was),  under  the  protection  of  all  Europe,  which  should  hold 
the  position  simply  to  protect  the  passage  of  the  Bosphorus 
and  the  Dardanelles,  and  thus  keep  open  the  Black  Sea  to 
the  commerce  of  the  world. 

But  however  these  remoter  questions  may  perplex  the 
minds  of  statesmen,  they  cannot  prevent,  nor  long  delay,  the 
first  necessity,  viz.,  that  the  Turk  should  retire  from  Europe. 
It  cannot  be  permitted  in  the  interests  of  civilization,  that  a 
half- barbarous  power  should  keep  forever  the  finest  position 
in  the  world,  the  point  of  contact  between  Europe  and  Asia, 
only  to  be  a  barrier  between  them — an  obstacle  to  commerce 
and  to  civilization.  This  obstruction  must  be  removed.  The 
Turks  themselves  may  remain,  but  they  will  no  longer  be  the 
governing  race,  but  subject,  like  other  races,  to  whatever 
power  may  succeed ;  the  Sultan  may  transfer  his  capital  to 
Brousa,  the  ancient  capital  of  the  Ottoman  Empire ;  but 
Turkey  will  thenceforth  be  wholly  an  Asiatic,  and  no  longer 
an  European  power. 

And  this  will  be  the  end  of  a  dominion  that  for  centuries 
was  the  terror  of  Europe.  It  is  four  hundred  and  twenty 
years  since  the  Turks  crossed  the  Bosphorus  and  took  Con- 
stantinople. Since  then  they  have  risen  to  such  power  that 
at  one  time  they  threatened  to  overrun  Europe.  It  is  not 
two  hundred  years  since  they  laid  siege  to  Vienna.  But 
within  two  centuries  Turkey  has  greatly  declined.  The  rise 
of  a  colossal  power  in  the  North  has  completely  overshadowed 
her,  tin  now  she  is  kept  from  becoming  the  easy  prey  of 
Russia  only  by  the  protection  of  those  Christian  powers  to 
which  the  Turk  was  once,  like  Attila,  the  Scourge  of  God. 

From  the  moment  that  the  Turks  ceased  to  conquer,  they 
began  to  decline.  They  came  into  Europe  as  a  race  of  war- 
riors, and  have  never  made  any  progress  except  by  the  sword. 
And  so  they  have  really  never  taken  root  as  one  of  the  fam- 
ily of  civilized  nations,  but  have  always  lived  as  in  a  camp, 
a  vast  Asiatic  horde,  that,  while  conquering  civilized  coun- 


340  THE   EASTERN    QUESTION. 

tries,  retained  the  habits  and  instincts  of  nomadic  tribes, 
that  were  only  living  in  tents,  and  might  at  any  time  recross 
the  Bosphorus  and  return  to  their  native  deserts. 

That  their  exodus  is  approaching,  is  felt  by  the  more  saga- 
cious Turks  themselves.  The  government  is  taking  every 
precaution  against  its  overthrow.  Dreading  the  least  popu- 
lar movement,  it  does  not  dare  to  trust  its  Christian  popula- 
tions. It  will  not  permit  them  to  bear  arms,  lest  the  weapons 
might  be  turned  against  itself.  JVo  one  but  a  Mohammedan 
is  allowed  to  enter  the  army.  There  may  be  some  European 
officers  left  from  the  time  of  the  Crimean  war,  whose  services 
are  too  valuable  to  be  spared,  but  in  the  ranks  not  a  man  is 
received  who  is  not  a  "  true  believer."  This  conscription 
weighs  very  heavily  on  the  Mussulmans,  who  are  but  a  small 
minority  in  European  Turkey,  and  who  are  thus  decimated 
from  year  to  year.  It  is  a  terrible  blood-tax  which  they 
have  to  pay  as  the  price  of  continued  dominion.  But  even 
this  the  government  is  willing  to  pay  rather  than  that  arms 
should  be  in  the  hands  of  those  who,  as  the  subject  races,  are 
their  traditional  enemies,  and  who,  in  the  event  of  what  might 
become  a  religious  war,  would  turn  upon  them,  and  seek  a 
bloody  revenge  for  ages  of  oppression  and  cruelty. 

Seeing  these  things,  many  even  of  the  Turks  themselves 
anticipate  their  speedy  departure  from  the  Promised  Land 
which  they  have  so  long  occupied,  and  are  beginning  to  set 
their  houses  in  order  for  it.  Aged  Turks  in  dying  often  leave 
this  last  request,  that  they  may  be  buried  at  Scutari,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Bosphorus,  so  that  if  their  people  are  driven 
across  into  Asia,  their  bodies  at  least  may  rest  in  peace  under 
the  cypress  groves  which  darken  the  Asiatic  shore. 

With  such  fears  and  forebodings  on  one  side,  and  such 
hopes  and  expectations  on  the  other,  we  leave  this  Eastern 
Question  just  where  we  found  it.  Anybody  can  state  it; 
nobody  can  resolve  it.  It  is  the  great  political  problem  in 
Europe  at  this  hour,  which  no  statesman,  however  sagacious 


THE  EXODUS  OF  THE  TURKS.  341 

— not  Bismarck,  nor  Thiers,  nor  Andrassy,  nor  GortchakofT 
— has  yet  been  able  to  resolve.  But  man  proposes  and  God 
disposes.  This  is  one  of  those  mysteries  of  the  future  which 
Divine  intelligence  alone  can  penetrate,  and  Divine  Provi- 
dence alone  can  reveal.  We  must  not  assume  to  be  over- wise 
— although  there  are  some  signs  which  we  see  clearly  written 
on  the  face  of  the  sky — but  "  watch  and  wait,"  which  we  do 
in  the  full  confidence  that  we  shall  not  have  to  wait  long, 
but  that  the  curtain  will  rise  on  great  events  in  the  East  be- 
fore the  close  of  the  present  century. 


342  THE  SULTAN  IS  DEPOSED. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE    SULTAN    IS   DEPOSED    AND    COMMITS    SUICIDE. — THE    WAR 

IN    SERVIA. MASSACRES   IN   BULGARIA. HOW  WILL    IT    ALL 

END? 

The  last  three  chapters  were  written  in  Constantinople, 
near  the  close  of  1875.  Since  then  a  year  has  passed — and 
yet  I  do  not  need  to  change  a  single  word.  All  that  was 
then  said  of  the  wretched  character  of  the  Sultan,  and  of 
the  hopeless  decay  of  the  empire,  has  proved  literally  true. 
Indeed  if  I  were  to  draw  the  picture  again,  I  should  paint  it 
in  still  darker  colors.  The  best  commentary  upon  it,  and 
the  best,  proof  of  its  truth,  is  that  which  has  been  furnished 
by  subsequent  events.  A  rapid  review  of  these  will  com- 
plete this  political  sketch  up  to  the  present  hour. 

At  the  close  of  the  chapter  on  Abdul  Aziz,  I  suggested,  as 
a  possible  event  in  the  near  future,  that  the  "Turks  might  be 
driven  out  of  Europe  into  Asia,  and  their  capital  be  removed 
from  Constantinople  back  to  Broussa,  (where  it  was  four 
hundred  and  twenty  years  ago,)  or  even  to  the  banks  of  the 
Tigris,  and  that  the  Sultan  might  end  his  days  as  the  Caliph 
of  Bagdad. 

Was  this  a  gloomy  future  to  predict  for  a  sovereign  at  the 
height  of  power  aud  glory  ?  Alas  for  human  ambition ! 
Happy  would  it  have  been  for  him  if  he  could  have  found  a 
refuge,  in  Broussa  or  in  Bagdad,  from  the  troubles  that  were 
gathering  around  him.  But  a  fate  worse  than  exile  was  re- 
served for  this  unhappy  monarch.  In  six  months  from  that 
time  he  was    deposed    and    dead,    dying  by  his  own   hand. 


THE  SULTAN  IS  DEPOSED.  343 

It  is  a  short  story,  but  forms  one  of  the  most  melancholy 
tragedies  of  modern  times. 

During  the  winter  things  went  from  bad  to  worse,  till  even 
Moslem  patience  and  stoicism  were  exhausted.  There  was 
great  suffering  in  the  capital,  which  the  sovereign  was  unable 
to  relieve,  or  to  which  rather  he  was  utterly  indifferent. 
Murmurs  began  to  be  heard,  and  not  from  his  Christian  sub- 
jects, but  from  faithful  Moslems.  Employes  of  the  govern- 
ment, civil  and  military,  were  not  paid.  Yet  even  in  this 
extremity  every  caprice  of  the  Sultan  must  be  supplied.  Tf 
money  came  into  the  treasury,  it  was  said  that  he  seized  it 
for  his  own  use. 

Feeling  the  pressure  from  without,  the  ministers,  who 
had  been  accustomed  to  approach  their  master  like  slaves, 
cowed  and  cringing  in  his  presence,  grew  bolder,  and  pre- 
sumed to  speak  a  little  more  plainly.  Reminding  him  as 
gently  as  possible  of  the  public  distress,  and  especially  of  the 
fact  that  the  army  was  not  paid,  they  ventured  to  hint  that 
if  his  august  majesty  would,  out  of  his  serene  and  benevo- 
lent wisdom  and  condescension,  apply  a  little  of  his  own 
private  resources  (for  it  was  well  known  that  he  had  vast 
treasures  hoarded  in  the  palace),  it  would  allay  the  growing 
discontent.  But  to  all  such  intimations  he  listened  with 
ill-concealed  vexation  and  disgust.  What  cared  he  for  the 
sufferings  of  his  soldiers  or  people  ?  Not  a  pound  would 
he  give  out  of  his  full  coffers,  even  to  put  an  end  to  mutiny 
in  the  camp  or  famine  in  the  capital.  Dismissing  the  imper- 
tinent ministers,  he  retired  into  the  harem  to  forget  amid  itp« 
languishing  beauties  the  unwelcome  intrusion. 

But  there  is  a  point  beyond  which  even  Mohammedan  fatal- 
ism cannot  bow  in  submission.  Finding  all  attempts  to  move 
the  Sultan  hopeless,  his  ministers  began  to  look  in  each 
other's  faces,  and  to  take  courage  from  their  despair.  There 
was  but  one  resource  left — they  must  strike  at  the  Isead  of 
the  state.     The  Sultan  himself  must  be  put  out  of  the  way. 


344  THE   SULTAN    IS    DEPOSED. 

But  how  can  any  popular  movement  be  inaugurated  undei 
an  absolute  rule  ?  Despotism  indeed  is  sometimes  "  tem« 
pered  by  assassination "  !  But  here  a  sovereign  was  to  be 
removed  without  that  resort.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  public  opinion  even  in  Constantinople. 
Though  it  is  a  Mohammedan  state,  there  is  a  power  above 
Sultans  and  Caliphs ;  it  is  that  of  the  Koran  itself.  The 
government  is  a  Theocracy  as  much  as  that  of  the  Jews,  and 
the  law  of  the  state  is  the  Koran,  of  which  the  priestly 
class,  the  Ulemas  and  the  Mollahs  and  the  Softas,  are  the 
representatives.  Mohammedanism  has  its  Pope  in  the  Sheik- 
ul-Islam,  who  is  the  authorized  interpreter  of  the  sacred  law, 
and  who,  like  other  interpreters,  knows  how  to  make  the 
most  inflexible  creed  bend  to  the  necessities  of  the  state. 
His  opinion  was  asked  if,  in  a  condition  of  things  so  extreme 
as  that  which  now  existed,  the  sovereign  might  be  lawfully 
deposed?  He  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Thus  armed 
with  a  spiritual  sanction,  the  conspirators  proceeded  to 
obtain  the  proper  civil  authority  and  military  support. 

The  Sultan  had  had  his  suspicions  excited,  and  had 
sought  for  safety  by  a  vigilant  watch  on  Murad  EfFendi,  who 
was  kept  under  strict  surveillance,  and  almost  under  guard, 
like  a  state  prisoner.  Suspecting  the  fidelity  of  the  Minister 
of  War,  he  sent  to  demand  his  immediate  presence  at  the 
palace.  But  as  the  latter  was  deep  in  the  plot,  he  pleaded 
illness  as  an  excuse  for  his  non-appearance.  But  this  alarm 
hastened  the  decisive  blow.  The  ministers  met  at  the 
war  office,  and  thither  Murad  Eflendi  was  brought  secretly 
in  the  night  of  Monday,  May  29  th,  and  received  by  them 
as  Sultan,  and  made  to  issue  an  order  for  the  immediate 
arrest  of  his  predecessor,  Abdul  Aziz,  an  order  which  was 
entrusted  to  Redif  Pasha,  a  soldier  of  experience  and  nerve, 
for  execution.  Troops  were  already  under  arms,  and  were 
now  drawn  around  the  palace,  while  the  officer  entered  to 
demand  the  person  of  the  Sultan.      Passing  through  the  at- 


THE    SULTAN   IS  DEPOSED.  345 

tendants,  he  came  to  the  chief  of  the  eunuchs,  who  kept? 
guard  over  the  sacred  person  of  the  Padishah,  and  demanded 
to  be  led  instantly  to  his  master.  This  black  major-domo 
was  not  accustomed  to  such  a  tone,  and,  amazed  at  such  au- 
dacity, laughed  in  the  face  of  the  intruder.  But  the  old 
soldier  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.  Forcing  his  way  into  the 
apartments  of  the  Sultan,  he  announced  to  him  that  he  had 
ceased  to  reign,  and  must  immediately  quit  his  palace. 
Then  the  terrible  truth  began  to  dawn  upon  him  that  he  was 
no  longer  a  god,  before  whom  men  trembled.  He  was  be- 
side himself  with  fury.  He  raved  and  stormed  like  a  mad- 
man, and  cursed  the  unwelcome  guest  in  the  name  of  the 
Prophet.  His  mother  rushed  into  the  room,  and  added 
her  cries  and  imprecations.  But  he  could  not  yet  believe 
that  any  insolent  official  had  the  power  to  remove  him  from 
his  palace.  He  told  the  Pasha  that  he  was  a  liar !  The 
only  answer  was,  Look  out  of  the  window  !  One  glance  was 
enough.  There  in  thick  ranks  stood  the  soldiers  that  had  so 
long  guarded  his  person  and  his  throne,  and  would  have 
guarded  him  still,  if  his  own  folly  had  not  driven  them  to 
turn  their  arms  against  him.  Then  he  changed  his  tone, 
and  promised  to  yield  everything,  if  he  might  be  spared. 
He  was  told  it  was  too  late,  and  was  warned  to  make  haste. 
Time  was  precious.  The  boats  were  waiting  below.  The 
Sultan  had  often  descended  there  to  his  splendid  caique  to  go 
to  the  mosque,  when  all  the  ships  in  the  harbor  fired  salutes 
in  honor  of  his  majesty.  Now  not  a  gun  spoke.  Silently 
he  embarked  with  his  mother  and  sons,  and  fifty-three  boats 
soon  followed  with  his  wives  and  servants.  And  thus  in  the 
gray  of  the  morning  they  moved  across  the  waters  to  Se- 
raglio Point,  where  Abdul  Aziz,  but  an  hour  ago  a  sovereign, 
now  found  himself  a  prisoner. 

The  same  forenoon  another  retinue  of  barges  conveyed  Mu« 
rad  Effendi  across  the  same  waters  to  the  vacant  palace,  and 
the  ships  of  war  thundered  their  salutes  to  the  new  Sultan. 
15* 


346  HE    COMMITS    SUICIDE. 

Was  there  ever  such  an  overthrow  ?  The  humiliation  was 
too  great  to  be  borne  by  a  weak  mind,  which  could  find  no 
rest  but  in  the  grave.  Five  days  after  he  shut  himself  up 
in  his  room,  and  when  the  attendants  opened  the  door  he 
was  found  weltering  in  his  blood.  Scissors  by  his  side  re- 
vealed the  weapon  by  which  had  been  wrought  the  bloody 
deed.  Suspicions  were  freely  expressed  that  he  had  not  died 
by  his  own  hand,  but  by  assassination.  But  a  council  of 
physicians  gave  a  verdict  in  support  of  the  theory  of  suicide. 
The  next  day  a  long  procession  wound  through  the  streets  of 
old  Stamboul,  following  the  dead  monarch  to  his  tomb,  where 
at  last  he  found  the  rest  he  could  not  find  in  life. 

Such  was  the  end  of  Abdul  Aziz,  who  passed  almost  in  the 
same  hour  from  his  throne  and  from  life.  Was  there  ever  a 
more  mournful  sight  under  the  sun?  As  we  stand  over  that 
poor  body  covered  with  blood,  we  think  of  that  brilliant 
scene  when  he  rode  to  the  mosque,  surrounded  by  his  officers 
of  state,  and  indignation  at  his  selfish  life  is  almost  forgotten 
in  pity  for  his  end.  We  are  appalled  at  the  sudden  contrast 
of  that  exalted  height  and  that  tremendous  fall.  He  fell  as 
lightning  from  heaven.  Did  ever  so  bright  a  day  end  in 
so  black  a  night?  With  such  solemn  thoughts  we  turn 
away,  with  footsteps  sad  and  slow,  from  that  royal  tomb, 
and  leave  the  wretched  sleeper  to  the  judgment  of  history 
and  of  God. 

His  successor  had  not  a  long  or  brilliant  reign.  Calamity 
brooded  over  the  land,  and  weighed  like  a  pall  on  an 
enfeebled  body  and  a  weak  mind,  and  after  a  few  months 
he  too  was  removed,  to  give  place  to  a  younger  brother,  who 
had  more  physical  vigor  and  more  mental  capacity,  and  who 
now  fills  that  troubled  throne. 

I  said  also  that  "  the  curtain  might  rise  on  great  events  in 
the  East  before  the  close  of  the  present  century."  It  has 
already  begun  to  rise.  The  death  of  the  Sultan  relieved  the 
State  of  a  terrible  incubus,  but  it  failed  to  restore  public  tran- 


THE   WAR   IN   SERVIA.  347 

quillity  and  prosperity.  Some  had  supposed  that  it  alone 
would  allay  discontent  and  quell  insurrection.  But  instead 
of  this,  his  deposition  and  death  seemed  to  produce  a  con- 
trary effect.  It  relaxed  the  bonds  of  authority.  It  spread 
more  widely  the  feeling  that  the  empire  was  in  a  state  of 
hopeless  decay  and  dissolution,  and  that  the  time  had  come 
for  different  provinces  to  seek  their  independence.  Instead 
of  the  Montenegrins  laying  down  their  arms,  those  brave 
mountaineers  became  more  determined  than  ever,  and  the 
insurrection,  instead  of  dying  out,  spread  to  other  provinces. 

Servia  had  long  been  chafing  with  impatience.  This 
province  was  already  independent  in  everything  but  the 
name.  Though  still  a  part  of  the  Turkish  Empire,  and  pay- 
ing an  annual  tribute  to  the  Sultan,  it  had  its  own  separate 
government.  But  such  was  the  sympathy  of  the  people  with 
the  other  Christian  populations  of  European  Turkey,  who 
were  groaning  under  the  oppression  of  their  masters,  that 
the  government  could  not  withstand  the  popular  excitement, 
and  at  the  opening  of  summer  rushed  into  war. 

It  was  a  rash  step.  Servia  has  less  than  a  million  and  a 
half  of  souls  ;  and  its  army  is  very  small,  although,  by  calling 
out  all  the  militia,  it  mustered  into  the  field  a  hundred 
thousand  men.  It  hoped  to  anticipate  success  by  a  rapid 
movement.  A  large  force  at  once  crossed  the  frontier  into 
Turkey,  in  order  to  make  that  country  the  battle-ground  of 
the  hostile  armies.  The  movement  was  well  planned,  and  if 
carried  out  by  veteran  troops,  might  have  been  successful. 
But  the  raw  Servian  levies  were  no  match  for  the  Turkish 
regular  army ;  and  as  soon  as  the  latter  could  be  moved  up 
from  Constantinople,  the  former  were  sacrificed.  In  the 
series  of  battles  which  followed,  the  Turks  were  almost 
uniformly  successful;  forcing  back  the  Servians  over  the 
border,  and  into  their  own  country,  where  they  had  every 
advantage  for  resistance;  where  there  were  rivers  to  be 
crossed,  and  passes  in  the  hills,  and  fortresses  that  might  be 


348  THE   WAR   IN    SERVIA. 

defended.  But  with  all  these  advantages  the  Turkish  troops 
pressed  on.  Their  advance  was  marked  by  wasted  fields  and 
burning  villages,  yet  nothing  could  resist  their  onward 
march,  and  but  foj:  the  delay  caused  by  the  interposition  of 
other  powers,  it  seemed  probable  that  the  campaign  would 
end  by  the  Turks  entering  in  triumph  the  capital  of  Servia 
and  dictating  terms  of  peace,  or  rather  of  submission, 
within  the  walls  of  Belgrade. 

This  is  a  terrible  disappointment  to  those  sanguine  spirits 
who  were  so  eager  to  urge  Servia  into  war,  and  who  appa- 
rently thought  that  her  raw  recruits  could  defeat  any  Turkish 
army  that  could  be  brought  against  them.  The  result  is  a 
lesson  to  the  other  discontented  provinces,  and  a  warning  to 
all  Europe,  that  Turkey,  though  she  may  be  dying,  is  not 
dead,  and  that  she  will  die  hard. 

This  proof  of  her  remaining  vitality  will  not  surprise  one 
who  has  seen  the  Turks  at  home.  Misgoverned  and  ruined 
financially  as  Turkey  is,  she  is  yet  a  very  formidable  military 
power — not,  indeed,  as  against  Russia,  or  Germany,  or  Aus- 
tria, but  as  against  any  second-rate  power,  and  especially  as 
against  any  of  her  revolted  provinces. 

Her  troops  are  not  mere  militia,  they  are  trained  soldiers. 
Those  that  we  saw  in  the  streets  of  Constantinople  were  men 
of  splendid  physique,  powerful  and  athletic,  just  the  stuff 
for  war.  They  are  capable  of  much  greater  endurance  than 
even  English  soldiers,  who  must  have  their  roast  beef  and 
other  luxuries  of  the  camp,  while  the  Turks  will  live  on  the 
coarsest  food,  sleep  on  the  ground,  and  march  gayly  to  battle. 
Such  men  are  not  to  be  despised  in  a  great  conflict.  In  its 
raw  material,  therefore,  the  Turkish  army  is  probably  equal 
to  any  in  Europe.  If  as  well  disciplined  and  as  well  com- 
manded, it  might  be  equal  to  the  best  troops  of  Germany. 

So  far  as  equipment  is  concerned,  it  has  little  to  desire. 
A  great  part  of  the  extravagance  of  the  late  Sultan  was  in 
the  purchase  of  the  most  approved  weapons  of  war,  which 


MASSACKES    IN    BULGARIA.  349 

seemed  needless,  but  have  now  come  into  play.  His  iron- 
clads, no  doubt,  were  a  costly  folly,  but  his  Krupp  cannon 
and  breech-loading  rifles  (the  greater  part  made  in  America) 
may  turn  the  scale  of  battle  on  many  a  bloody  field. 

Further,  these  men  are  not  only  physically  strong  and 
brave ;  not  only  are  they  well  disciplined  and  well  armed ; 
but  they  are  inflamed  with  a  religious  zeal  that  heightens 
their  courage  and  kindles  their  enthusiasm.  That  such  an 
army  should  be  victorious,  however  much  we  may  regret  it, 
cannot  be  a  matter  of  surprise. 

As  the  result  of  this  campaign,  however  calamitous,  was 
merely  the  fortune  of  war,  gained  in  honorable  battle ;  what- 
ever sorrow  it  might  have  caused  throughout  Europe,  it  could 
not  have  created  any  stronger  feeling,  had  not  events  oc- 
curred in  another  province,  which  kindled  a  flame  of  popular 
indignation. 

Before  the  war  began,  indeed  before  the  death  of  the  Sul- 
tan, fearing  an  outbreak  in  other  provinces,  an  attempt  had 
been  made  to  strike  terror  into  the  disaffected  people.  Ir- 
regular troops — the  Circassians  and  Bashi  Bazouks — were 
marched  into  Bulgaria,  and  commenced  a  series  of  massa- 
cres that  have  thrilled  Europe  with  horror,  as  it  has  not  been 
since  the  massacre  of  Scio  in  the  Greek  revolution.  The 
events  were  some  time  in  coming  to  the  knowledge  of 
the  world,  so  that  weeks  after,  when  inquiry  was  made 
in  the  British  Parliament,  Mr.  Disraeli  replied  that  the 
government  had  no  knowledge  of  any  atrocities;  that 
probably  the  reports  were  exaggerated ;  that  it  was  a  kind 
of  irregular  warfare,  ir  which,  no  doubt,  there  were  out- 
rages on  both  sides. 

Since  then  the  facts  have  come  to  light.  Mr.  Eugene 
Schuyler,  lately  the  American  Secretary  of  Legation  at  St. 
Petersburg,  and  now  Consul  in  Constantinople,  has  visited 
the  province,  and,  as  the  result  of  a  careful  inquiry,  finda 
that  not  less  than  twelve  thousand  men,  women,  and  children 


350  MASSACRES    IN    BULGARIA. 

(he  thinks  fifteen  thousand)  have  been  massacred.  Women 
have  been  outraged,  villages  have  been  burnt,  little  children 
thrown  into  the  flames.  That  peaceful  province  has  been 
laid  waste  with  fire  and  slaughter. 

The  report,  coming  from  such  a  source,  and  accompanied 
by  the  fullest  evidence,  created  a  profound  sensation  in 
England.  Meetings  were  held  in  all  parts  of  the  country  to 
express  the  public  indignation;  and  not  only  at  the  brutal 
Turks,  but  at  their  own  government  for  the  light  and  flippant 
way  in  which  it  had  treated  such  horrors :  the  more  so  that 
among  the  powers  of  Europe,  England  was  the  supporter 
of  Turkey,  and  thus  might  be  considered  as  herself  guilty, 
unless  she  uttered  her  indignant  protest  in  the  name  of 
humanity  and  civilization. 

But  why  should  the  people  of  Christian  England  wonder 
at  these  things,  or  at  any  act  of  violence  and  blood  done  by- 
such  hands  ?  The  Turk  has  not  changed  his  nature  in  the  four 
hundred  years  that  he  has  lived,  or  rather  camped,  in  Europe. 
He  is  still  a  Tartar  and  half  a  savage.  Here  and  there  may- 
be found  a  noble  specimen  of  the  race,  in  some  old  sheik, 
who  rules  a  tribe,  and  exercises  hospitality  in  a  rude  bat 
generous  fashion,  and  who  looks  like  an  ancient  patriarch  as 
he  sits  at  his  tent  door  in  the  cool  of  the  day.  Enthusiastic 
travellers  may  tell  us  of  some  grand  old  Turk  who  is  like  "  a 
fine  old  English  gentleman,"  but  such  cases  are  exceptional. 
The  mass  of  the  people  are  Tartars,  as  much  as  when  they 
roamed  the  deserts  of  Central  Asia.  The  wild  blood  is  in 
them  still,  with  every  brutal  instinct  intensified  by  religion. 
All  Mussulmans  are  nursed  in  such  contempt  and  scorn  of  the 
rest  of  mankind,  that  when  once  their  passions  are  aroused, 
it  is  impossible  for  them  to  exercise  either  justice  or  mercy. 
No  tie  of  a  common  humanity  binds  them  to  the  rest  of  the 
human  race.  The  followers  of  the  Prophet  are  lifted  to 
such  a  height  above  those  who  are  not  believers,  that  the  suf- 
ferings of  others  are  nothing  to   them.     If  called  to  "rise 


MASSACRES   IN   BULGARIA.  351 

and  slay,"  they  obey  the  command  without  the  slightest  feel- 
ing of  pity  or  remorse. 

With  such  a  people  it  is  impossible  to  deal  as  with  other 
nations.  There  is  no  common  ground  to  stand  upon.  They 
care  no  more  for  "  Christian  dogs,"  nor  so  much,  as  they  do 
for  the  dogs  that  howl  and  yelp  in  the  streets  of  Constanti- 
nople. Their  religious  fanaticism  extinguishes  every  feeling 
of  a  common  nature.  Has  not  Europe  a  right  to  put  some 
restraint  on  passions  so  lawless  and  violent,  and  thus  to  stop 
such  frightful  massacres  as  have  this  very  year  deluged  her 
soil  with  innocent  blood  ? 

The  campaign  in  Servia  is  now  over.  An  armistice  has 
been  agreed  upon  for  six  weeks,  and  as  the  winter  is  at  hand, 
hostilities  cannot  be  resumed  before  spring.  Meanwhile 
European  diplomacy  will  be  at  work  to  settle  the  conflict 
without  another  resort  to  arms.  Russia  appears  as  the  pro- 
tector and  supporter  of  Servia.  She  asks  for  a  conference  of 
the  six  powers — England,  France,  Italy,  Germany,  Austria, 
and  Russia — a  conference  to  decide  on  the  fate  of  Turkey, 
yet  from  which  Turkey  shall  be  excluded.  Already  intima- 
tions are  given  out  of  the  nature  of  the  terms  which  Russia 
will  propose.  Turkey  has  promised  reform  for  the  protec- 
tion and  safety  of  her  Christian  populations.  But  experi- 
ence has  proved  that  her  promises  afe  good  for  nothing. 
Either  they  are  made  in  bad  faith,  and  are  not  intended  to 
be  kept,  or  she  has  no  power  to  enforce  them  in  the  face  of 
a  fanatical  Mohammedan  population.  It  is  now  demanded, 
in  order  to  secure  the  Christian  population  absolute  protec- 
tion, that  these  reforms  shall  be  carried  out  under  the  eye  of 
foreign  commissioners  in  the  different  provinces,  supported 
by  an  armed  force.  This  is  indeed  an  entering  wedge,  with 
a  very  sharp  edge  too,  and  driven  home  with  tremendous 
power.  If  Turkey  grants  this,  she  may  as  well  abdicate  her 
authority  over  her  revolted  provinces.  But  Europe  can  be 
contented  with  nothing  less,  for  without  this  there  is  abso- 


352  HOW   WILL    IT   ALL   END? 

lutely  no  safety  for  Christians  in  any  lands  cursed  by  the 
rule  of  the  Turk. 

It  is  quite  probable  that  the  negotiations  will  issue  in 
some  sort  of  autonomy  for  the  disaffected  provinces.  Thia 
has  been  already  granted  to  Wallachia  and  Moldavia  (which 
have  been  united  under  the  name  of  Roumania),  the  result 
of  which  has  been  to  bring  quietness  and  peace.  It  has  been 
granted  to  Servia.  Their  connection  with  the  Porte  is  only 
nominal,  being  limited  to  the  payment  of  an  annual  tribute  ; 
while  even' this  nominal  dependence  has  the  good  effect  of 
warning  off  other  powers,  such  as  Austria  and  .Russia, 
from  taking  possession.  If  this  same  degree  of  independence 
could  be  extended  to  Bulgaria  and  to  Bosnia  and  Herze- 
govina, there  would  be  a  belt  of  Christian  states,  which 
would  be  virtually  independent,  drawn  around  Turkey, 
which  would  confine  within  smaller  space  the  range  of  Mos 
lem  domination  in  Europe. 

And  yet  even  that  is  not  the  end,  nor  will  it  be  the  final 
settlement  of  the  Eastern  question.  That  will  not  be  reached 
until  some  other  power,  or  joint  powers,  hold  Constantinople. 
That  is  the  eye  of  the  East ;  that  is  the  jewel  of  the  world  ; 
and  so  long  as  it  remains  in  the  hands  of  the  Turks,  it  will 
be  an  object  of  envy,  of  ambition,  and  of  war. 

The  late  Charles  Sumner  used  to  say  that  "  a  question  is 
never  settled  until  it  is  settled  right ;  "  and  it  cannot  be  right 
that  a  position  which  is  the  most  central  and  regal  in  all  the 
earth  should  be  held  forever  by  a  barbarian  power. 

There  is  a  saying  in  the  East  that  "  where  the  Turk  comes 
the  grass  never  grows."  Is  it  not  time  that  these  Tartar  hordes, 
that  have  so  long  held  dominion  in  Europe,  should  return 
into  the  deserts  from  which  they  came,  leaving  the  grass  to 
spring  up  from  under  their  departing  feet  ? 

But  some  Christian  people  and  missionaries  dread  such  an 
issue,  because  they  think  that  it  is  a  struggle  between  the 
Russian  and  the  Turk,  and  that  if  the  Turk  goes  out  the  Rus- 


HOW   WILL    IT   ALL   END  ?  353 

sian  must  come  in.  But  is  there  no  other  alternative  ?  Is  there 
not  political  wisdom  enough  in  all  Europe  to  make  another 
settlement,  and  power  enough  to  enforce  their  will  ?  Eng- 
land holds  Malta  and  Gibraltar,  and  France  holds  Algeria: 
cannot  both  hold  Constantinople?  Their  combined  fleets 
could  sweep  every  Russian  ship  out  of  the  Black  Sea,  as 
they  did  in  the  Crimean  war.  Drawn  up  in  the  Bosphorus, 
they  could  so  guard  that  strait  that  no  Russian  flag  should 
fly  on  the  Seraskier  or  Galata  towers.  "Why  may  not  Con- 
stantinople be  placed  under  the  protection  of  all  nations 
for  the  common  benefit  of  all?  But  for  this,  the  first 
necessity  is  that  the  Turk  should  take  himself  out  of  the 
way. 

This,  I  believe,  will  come;  but  it  will  not  come  without  a 
struggle.  The  Turks  are  not  going  to  depart  out  of  Eiirope 
at  the  first  invitation  of  Russia,  or  of  all  Europe  combined. 
They  have  shown  that  they  are  a  formidable  foe.  When  this 
war  began,  some  who  had  been  looking  and  longing  for  the 
destruction  of  Turkey  thought  this  was  the  beginning  of  the 
end;  enthusiastic  students  of  prophecy  saw  in  it  "  the  dry- 
ing up  of  the  Euphrates."  All  these  had  better  moderate 
their  expectations.  Admitting  that  the  final  end  will  be 
the  overthrow  of  the  Mohammedan  power  in  Europe, 
yet  this  end  may  be  many  years  in  coming.  "  The  sick 
man  "  is  not  dead,  and  he  will  not  die  quietly  and  peace- 
fully, as  an  old  man  breathes  his  last.  He  will  not  gather 
up  his  feet  into  his  bed,  and  turn  his  face  to  the  wall,  and 
give  up  the  ghost.  He  will  die  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  his 
death-struggles  will  be  tremendous.  The  Turk  came  into 
Europe  on  horseback,  waving  his  scimitar  over  his  head,  and 
he  will  not  depart  like  a  fugitive,  H  as  men  flee  away  in  bat- 
tle," but  will  make  his  last  stand  on  the  shores  of  the  Bos- 
phorus, and  fall  fighting  to  the  last.  I  commend  this  sober 
view  to  those  whose  minds  may  be  inflamed  by  reading  of  the 
atrocities  of  the  present  war,  and  who  may  anticipate  the 


354  HOW   WILL    IT    ALL   END? 

march  of  events.  The  end  will  come ;  but  we  cannot  dictate, 
or  even  know,  the  time  of  its  coming. 

That  end,  I  firmly  believe,  will  be  the  exodus  of  thft  Turks 
from  Europe.  Not  that  the  people  as  a  body  will  depart. 
There  is  not  likely  to  be  another  national  migratioa.  The 
expulsion  of  a  hundred  thousand  of  the  conquering  race  of  the 
Osmanlis — or  of  half  that  number — may  suffice  to  remove  that 
imperious  element  that  has  so  long  kept  the  rule  in  Turkey, 
and  by  its  command  of  a  warlike  people,  been  for  centuries 
the  terror  of  Europe.  But  the  Turkish  power — the  power  to 
oppress  and  to  persecute,  to  kill  and  destroy,  to  perpetrate 
such  massacres  as  now  thrill  the  world  with  horror — must, 
and  will,  come  to  an  end. 

In  expressing  this  confident  opinion,  I  do  not  lay  claim  to 
any  political  wisdom  or  sagacity.  Nor  do  I  attach  impor- 
tance to  my  personal  observations.  But  I  do  give  weight  to 
the  judgment  of  those  who  have  lived  in  Turkey  for  years, 
and  who  know  well  the  government  and  the  people  :  and  in 
what  I  say  I  only  reflect  the  opinion  of  the  whole  foreign 
community  in  Constantinople.  While  there  I  questioned 
everybody  ;  I  sought  information  from  the  best  informed,  and 
wisdom  from  the  wisest ;  and  I  heard  but  one  opinion.  Not 
a  man  expressed  the  slightest  hope  of  Turkey,  or  the  slightest 
confidence  in  its  professions  of  reform.  One  and  all — English- 
men and  Americans,  Frenchmen  and  Germans,  Spaniards  and 
Italians — agreed  that  it  was  past  saving,  that  it  was  '*  ap- 
pointed to  die,"  and  that  its  removal  from  the  map  of  Europe 
was  only  a  question  of  time. 

So  ends  the  year  187G,  leaving  Europe  in  a  state  of  un- 
certainty and  expectancy — fearing,  trembling,  and  hoping. 
The  curtain  falls  on  a  year  of  horrors ;  on  what  scenes  shall 
the  new  year  rise  ?  We  are  in  the  midst  of  great  events,  and 
may  be  on  the  eve  of  still  greater.  It  may  be  that  a  war  is 
coming  on  which  will  be  nothing  less  than  a  death-struggle 
between  the  two  religions  which  have  so  long  divided  the 


HOW   WILL    IT   ALL   END?  355 

lands  that  lie  on  the  borders  of  Europe  and  Asia,  and  one  in 
which  the  atrocities  now  recorded  will  be  but  the  prelude  to 
more  terrible  massacres  until  the  vision  of  the  prophet  shall 
be  fulfilled,  that  "  blood  shall  come  up  to  the  horses'  bridles." 
But  looking  through  a  long  vista  of  years,  we  cannot  doubt 
(lie  issue  as  we  believe  in  the  steady  progress  of  civilization — 
nay,  as  we  believe  in  the  power  and  justice  of  God. 

We  may  not  live  to  see  it,  and  yet  we  could  wish  that  we 
might  not  taste  of  death  till  our  eyes  behold  that  final  de- 
liverance. Is  it  mere  imagination,  an  enthusiastic  dream, 
that  anticipates  what  we  desire  should  come  to  pass? 

It  may  be  that  we  are  utterly  deceived ;  but  as  we  look 
forward  we  think  we  see  before  many  years  a  sadly  impres- 
sive spectacle.  However  the  tide  of  battle  may  ebb  and 
flow,  yet  slowly,  but  steadily,  will  the  Osmanlis  be  pushed 
backward  from  those  Christian  provinces  which  they  have  so 
long  desolated  and  oppressed,  till  they  find  themselves  at  last 
on  the  shores  of  the  Golden  Horn,  forced  to  take  their  fare- 
well of  old  Stamboul.  Sadly  will  they  enter  St.  Sophia  for 
the  last  time,  and  turn  their  faces  towards  Mecca,  and  bow 
their  heads  repeating,  "  God  is  God,  and  Mohammed  is  his 
prophet."  It  would  not  be  strange  that  they  should  mourn  and 
weep  as  they  depart.  Be  it  so  !  They  came  into  that  sacred 
temple  with  bloodshed  and  massacre  ;  let  them  depart  with 
wailing  and  sorrow.  They  cross  the  Bosphorus,  and  linger 
under  the  cypresses  of  Scutari,  to  bid  adieu  to  the  graves  of 
their  fathers  ;  then  bowing,  with  the  fatalism  of  their  creed, 
to  a  destiny  which  they  cannot  resist,  they  turn  their  noises' 
heads  to  the  East,  and  ride  away  over  the  hills  of  Asia 
Minor. 


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12.  PERRY'S  INTRODUCTION  to  POLITICAL  ECONOMY 

i2mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

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txpress  charges  paid,  upon  receipt  of  the  price  by  the  Publishers, 

SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG  &  CO., 

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o~u 


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